Small town suck
Can’t you feel how bad he is? Doesn’t that house make you afraid just looking at it?
Stephen King, ‘Salem’s Lot
When I first got into King, and having bought the first few books myself, my parents ordered a bunch of second hand copies from eBay. In amongst that collection was a very battered copy of It (the cover held on by tape and eventually used for an art project), a hardback of Christine and a lurid pink-covered copy of ‘Salem’s Lot. And, if I am being honest, I tried reading it, and could never get past the opening chapters.
Yes, years later I was able to try again and read it. And in preparation for this, I naturally got myself another copy (the pink one lost to house moves or parent’s attics). But I would be lying if I said I found it easier – those opening chapters, with Ben and Susan’s slow-quick courtship and endless chatter of Evil up in that there Marsten House are hard to get through. It’s both rushed (Ben and Susan get together awful quick considering) and treading water until the main event with the Glicks. Throughout the book, there are touches of dialogue that feel far too literary and eye-winkingly clever from King, who’s skill at voice and dialect hasn’t quite taken hold. Like Carrie before it, which uses its epistolary form as a crutch to support the story, it feels like an author who isn’t quite yet confident or quite got into his style. I personally prefer Carrie, but think the King we know isn’t fully established until his next book. Luckily, the story here is strong enough to support it, and the second half rips through characters and plot at a pace quick and enjoyable enough to forget the slow pondering of Maine town life in the first half. And let us not forget that, most importantly, vampires are cool.
But also like Carrie, many of the hallmarks we see characterise later King stories are apparent in their more nascent form. Here is a more complete attempt at creating a Dickensian cast of characters, populating a town of townsfolk with dark secrets and darker inclinations. Like Chamberlain before it, and Derry and Castle Rock after, Jerusalem’s Lot is just as much a character in the book as Ben or Susan, Dud or Majorie, is even arguably the title character, and we are made to witness its slow death by disease over the course of the novel.
One of of King’s absolute strengths is his sense of place. Though he will occasionally venture out of his native Maine for a story, it is his home state that is his playground – even that one episode of The X-Files he wrote is set there! And though I don’t pretend to know the state at all, I know something of it from King, much as I know New England because of Lovecraft or Northampton because of Moore, and ‘Salem’s Lot is interesting in how King regards Maine, particularly in these early stories.
King is a child of the 50s, a time that has a certain nostalgic tint in pop culture: one only needs to look at films like Back to the Future, Grease or American Graffiti, to pick three at random, to see how those times are held aesthetically. But beneath the veneer, we have a rot. Having lived through it, King is all too aware of that duality. It’s a theme he will come back to again and again, and with this being written in the wake of Vietnam and Watergate, the rot in American society was brought to the fore.
The name of the town suggests that duality geographically rather than temporally – Jerusalem’s Lot into ‘Salem’s Lot. Jerusalem, the Holy City at the centre of Christianity, turned to Salem, the site of witch hunts and paranoia. It’s what makes sense of King’s original title for the novel, The Second Coming, with Barlow playing the part of a dark messiah come to spread if not the word, then certainly something through the town. Jerusalem’s Lot, when read as a representation of the people in it, is like any town. But overseeing it all is rotten tooth nobody likes to talk about or acknowledge, except in harried whispers: the Marsten House, the dark heart of Jerusalem’s Lot and its black history. That refusal to confront it allows it to take root, and for its malign influence to extend deeper and deeper into the town, much as the ripples of Vietnam and Watergate, amongst other sins, are still felt today.
King makes no secret that this is, in part, his attempt at retelling Bram Stoker’s Dracula. He had read it as a child, and taught it twice in his brief teaching career. By some serendipitous fortune I am teaching it at the moment too (sidebar: I am having a whale of time giving kids nightmares as we read about the crash of the Demeter), which does at least give me a sense of what I’m talking about. Dracula is in part about corruption, sexual disease, the New World Technology versus the Old World Traditions, and King delights on picking up those themes and making them relevant (and scary) for a modern audience.
(For a better look at the sexual dynamics and frankly eye-opening and brilliant queer reading of ‘Salem’s Lot, I cannot recommend this episode of The Kingcast with Bryan Fuller enough. I’m not even going to touch on it in my reflection, it’s so good. Leave me with my rumination on small town evil!)
What’s scary about the book isn’t necessarily the vampires. It isn’t even about how easy a town turns to evil; it’s how easy the town indulges, almost willingly, in evil. By the novel’s close the evil beast is vanquished, yet its evil brood still persists in the town stronger than ever. Its ugly underbelly has rolled over and has demands for tummy scritches. That metaphor may have got way from me, but the point stands: evil begets evil. The Marsten House, having casts it shadow over Jerusalem’s Lot for so long, has made evil a background, which gives people permission to be evil merely by its long existence. I don’t think King actually believes that people are evil, but when given the chance to indulge in baser instincts, people will. People can practically wallow in it.
Other King stories end more obviously optimistically – his belief in good and love as a power to redeem is practically his whole meta-narrative (see: It). ‘Salem’s Lot has a far murkier ending, particularly when considered against the political backdrop of King’s youth and time of writing. There is love still, yes. But does it win? Can it be cured?
Taking the book on its own, who can say? Ben and Mark’s return to the Lot isn’t to heal the town, but to cleanse it with fire. Give no quarter. You can get to the root of evil, but make sure you deal with its fruit, or that will sprout too, festering and growing until it comes back.
I remain hopeful that evil can be beaten, and I think King hopes so too.
Observations and Connections
We will eventually get on the path to the Dark Tower, but I’ve elected to keep references to future books to a minimum, in order to avoid spoilers for people following along at home. Having said that, this is not the last we will see of Father Callahan. And though I haven’t spoken about it here, there will be discussion of religion and faith in future essays I am sure, of which Callahan will play a part.
Similarly, Straker’s sacrifice of Ralphie is ostensibly to Satan himself, but what fun is there not to consider who of King’s later cosmology may be also responsible – perhaps a certain colour King?
There are other visits made to Jerusalem’s Lot, but we’ll cover those when we get into Night Shift. If you can’t wait, modern editions of the book include the two short stories (as well as ‘deleted scenes’) set within the confines of the town.
The rules of the vampires in this story broadly follow that of Stoker’s, including the need for an invitation. Which then does raise the question of how exactly Danny Glick is able to get into the McDougall trailer, considering the only person who could have possibly invited him in was a baby. I know babies. Babies are rubbish at opening doors. Strangely, I have less of an issue with Barlow entering the Petrie household uninvited – ancient evil I think has perhaps earned the right to bypass the rules.
Oh what’s this a secret bonus post? Oh go on – treat yourself, you’ve made it this far.
UP NEXT: A reservation has been made at The Overlook with The Shining. You’ll never leave.
Deeper Thoughts for the Horror Inclined 