by Arthur Paul Patterson AFTER LISTENING TO the twenty-three hour audio version of Stephen King’s romantic horror novel, Bag of Bones, it occurred to me that King’s allure involves the combination of the best in American Gothic - sans literary pretension - and an ample empathy for the wisdom of pop culture. He epitomizes the phrase, “Nevermore… now.” Like Edgar Allan Poe, King rides the cusp between supernaturalism and psychological thriller. You are never sure if his protagonists are suffering from a mental disorder or experiencing another dimension of existence. This is the secret of the dark romanticism in both Poe and King. Bag of Bones narrates the struggle of a moderately successful, recently widowed New England writer, Mike Noonan, whose bereavement has driven him out of his familiar urban home in Derry, Maine to his wilderness summer cottage called Sarah Laughs. Mike’s bout with writer’s block prevents him from the comforting distraction that writing brings to an overwrought mind. A mind filled with grief, as well as a haunting suspicion of his beloved Jenny whose post-mortem revelation of pregnancy, makes matters all the more confusing. Jenny has a secret which opens out into a labyrinth of buried layer upon layer community secrets involving a wicked octogenarian version of Bill Gates, and a sultry blues singer, Sarah Tisdale, who laughed in all the wrong parts of a plot. Sarah’s laugh echoes to the point of grinding itself into the social membrane of area residents. Mike falls in love, first with a prodigious and incredibly endearing four-year-old Kyra whom he meets walking precariously down the centre of the county highway. As if his emotions are not swirling enough, given the tragedy of Jenny and poltergeist activity at his cottage, he finds himself enmeshed as a knight in shining armor by supporting a custody suit involving Kyra’s attractive, way-too-young trailer park mother, Mattie. Mattie’s history coalesces with that of the computer mogul, the tale of Sarah Tisdale and that of the whole lake community in mysterious ways. It ends in a King-like cacophony of apocalyptic occurrences and one of his most satisfying conclusions to date. Why use the phrase “Nevermore… now,” to describe this plot? Because the term nevermore, as in Poe’s The Raven, reminds us of the eternal principle that justice must be established in history or suffering will continue through eternity in all manner of transmogrifying designs. The Raven reminds the nineteenth century griever that his misery over the lost Lenore will continue until time becomes eternity. King escalates Mike, Mattie, Sarah and Kyra’s personal sorrow into a genealogical curse that slowly dehumanizes the residents of rural Maine, turning them from being a friendly village into an inhospitable, alien tourist trap. Only righting the wrong can break the curse and only the power of love is strong enough to do so. King’s prose makes Poe’s “nevermore” palpable with his macabre symbolizations: Bunter the Ouija-like moose, Felix the eye-popping cat clock, and the trans-generational magical carnival steam whistle that could have come right out of Ray Bradbury. Tricks of the senses abound and the green Lady of the Lake, like the Raven on the mantle piece, points incessantly to the bag of bones where the final battle will take place. King’s version of nevermore is more optimistic since the battle is there for the waging and the outcome is not in the bag, or is it? Bag of Bones is not high literature but it is wise folk wisdom worth the read, not a mere penny dreadful or a beach novel. ***1/2 out of **** King, Stephen. Bag of Bones. London: McArthur & Company, 1997. 207 pages     You can respond to Arthur Paul Patterson here or on our messageboard.