Under the Dome: A Not-So-Subtle Allegory, Then Again, This is Stephen King

After making my way through the horror that is Fifty Shades of Grey, I was happy for a dose of reality and good storytelling. So, I decided it was time to finish Stephen King's brick-sized behemoth, Under the Dome.

It was a relief to read something that pulled on my attention, as opposed to something that made my soul weep with every turn of the page. King's own unique style is not one of my favorites (although it is enjoyable); however, he is nothing else if not a strong storyteller, right up to the end, where he will invariably cut you off. King doesn't do this with every book and story I've read, but he does do it frequently enough that it can result in a frustrating reading experience. The only time I found this actually worked for the story is in his Dark Tower series. As for Under the Dome, such an abrupt end only served to leave the story lacking despite the incredible build up.

King begins with a very simple premise: What would happen if a small town was suddenly and inexplicably isolated from the rest of the world? How would the citizens of that town react to being cut off from everyone they love?

The answers are pretty frightening.

Within the first chapter, the town of Chester's Mill, Maine is cut off from the rest of the world by a giant, clear dome. People and animals are immediately killed as it comes down, most cut in half, and at least two people die because their plane crashes into the dome.

Almost immediately, the town is further split into two distinct factions: good guys versus bad guys. And believe me, it's very clear who is who. The Good are led by Dale "Barbie" Barbara, a former military interrogator, and Julia Shumway, the editor of the local newspaper. The Bad are led by the second selectman of the town, James "Big Jim" Rennie, who also happens to be enjoying the profits from a massive "side project."

As the events unfold, the town joins one camp or the other, with more following Big Jim ("we support the home team") rather than Barbie, who after all is an outsider, a newcomer to the town, and thus untrustworthy.

King is a master at developing multiple story lines, juggling a seemingly endless array of characters, and at generating pulse-pounding suspense. The last is especially important since the book is over a thousand pages long. Each character is distinct and developed enough to propel the story. Even better, the plot doesn't seem like it's following a generic path. The characters make decisions that are believable and determined only by how King draws them. Despite this, King creates an unpredictable atmosphere, where the reader is constantly wondering what the characters are planning, in addition to wondering what will happen next.

The story begins to fail near the end, where everything wraps up far too quickly. After a phenomenal build up, the climax and resolution of the plot arrive in rapid succession. It was like I had awoken from a wonderful dream because someone threw a bucket of ice cold water into my face. I needed resolution; I needed to know what came after.

Unfortunately, King doesn't pander to my needs as a reader, only to what the story requires; and apparently this story only covers what happens under the dome. Even so, it was a frustrating end to an otherwise wonderful experience.

On a side note: Under the Dome is a thinly veiled political allegory, an intriguing look at the years following 9/11, and how America now exists in and creates policies in reaction to a state of terror. As stated in my title, the book is a not-so-subtle cultural statement by a not-so-subtle writer.

Fifty Shades of Grey, or, Yet More Proof I'm Gay

Finally! After what feels like an eternity, I have finished reading E.L. James' popular erotica novel, Fifty Shades of Grey. I cannot say I was impressed. Maybe it has something to do with my own preferences. I think not. More than likely it has something to do with the other books I have been reading, or finished reading, lately. Two of those books were The Other Wes Moore and Nickel and Dimed. Some of the others I've started and finished while reading James' book include The Great Gatsby and The Bell Jar. I've also been reading Stephen King's Under the Dome, which I haven't finished, but that's not because of a severe lack of interest; no, it's just a damn big book.

James' novel suffers from a very serious flaw: It's boring. To be fair, I did think, for a time, that my boredom could be a result of being gay. It's a fair assumption to make until it becomes clear that I've read a lot more about straight sex than gay sex. The world of literature is filled with straight sex. Henry and June, by Anais Nin, comes to mind. As does Lady Chatterley's Lover, by D.H. Lawerence. Both of those books contain quite a bit of sex, and I didn't find either one boring. So it seems that my reaction to Fifty Shades of Grey has nothing to do with sexual orientation.

Then why did my eyelids grow heavier and heavier every time I picked up the book?

First, I believe the biggest culprit is in how James establishes and draws her characters. To be frank, they are just not that interesting. Even Mr. Grey, who is supposed to be this incredibly beautiful man, suffers from a lack of personality. And no, his preference for S & M style sex does not make him interesting. Nor, really, does he become interesting through how he was introduced to sex, courtesy of an older woman (who's name, Mrs. Robinson, produced an eye roll from me every time I read it). Of course, Mr. Grey is also incredibly wealthy, but I think that's only to serve the fantasy element of the plot--that Grey can do pretty much anything he wants--and doesn't really provide any interesting information about Grey. Thankfully, being rich is not a personality trait.

The main character, Anastasia Steele, also suffers from a lack of personality. Oh, James tries very hard to demonstrate just how intelligent and well-read Ms. Steele is, usually by dropping references here and there to other famous works, like Tess of the d'Ubervilles, by Thomas Hardy. Granted, Thomas Hardy is not my favorite writer. I was forced to read Jude the Obscure in college and have recoiled from his name ever since. The fact that Ms. Steele actually loved him didn't exactly make her endearing.

The most egregious reference, a reference which stabbed me in the heart, occurred when James referenced a line from Hamlet, "what dreams may come." She inserted the line arbitrarily, where it had no discernible reference to the original work. Ms. Steele was falling asleep after an especially "hardcore" sexual escapade and the line just popped into her head as she thought of what dreams she might have that night. Since the line from Hamlet has nothing to do with literal dreams but what the soul may see while journeying through that "undiscovered country" that is the afterlife, the line does not fit well within the scene. It's as though James thought, "Oh, that's a nice line, and it's about dreams, so I'll just put it there." It doesn't work.

But, moving on....

References to other works don't create a personality, and Ms. Steele's lack of personality is even more disheartening in that James chose to write the book in first-person. This choice, and a few other similarities, reminded me a lot of another popular novel with a very boring character: Twilight. Like with Bella and Twilight, I found Ms. Steele so uninteresting that it was a chore to finish the book. I pushed my way through the headache inducing writing, through the boring sex scenes, and through all those literary references hoping that something good would come out of the whole experience. Sadly, no. I have absolutely no desire to continue reading the adventures of Steele and Grey. I'd much rather read more from Anais Nin.

Hell, I'd much rather read the latest volume of Boys on Boys, or something like it. At least with those books I'll have something to relate to, even if the writing is mind-bendingly awful. Those books aren't trying to be more; they're a "wham, bam, thank ma'am" kind of affair. And, sometimes, that's all right with me.