by George Beahm
It’s all been good. I got a ton of letters when the book first came out. I would always get these letters from school kids, from teachers, from librarians, from federal prisoners—all telling me how much they enjoyed the book.…
There’s obviously a tremendous number of Stephen King fans out there, and I think this was the sort of thing that they were waiting for, that was perfect for them, because it more or less organized the fiction and I think also served as a real companion, and I hope illuminated the books a great deal. That was the intent of it, to say: here’s not only some fiction that you’re reading for enjoyment, but there are messages, there are themes, there are subtexts here that are important. To me, that’s always been key: to consider what fiction is all about and how it affects me and my thinking.
I always hate it when people discount Steve as being just an entertainer, because he’s not. The same thing’s true about other major writers of horror fiction. And here was my opportunity to make clear some very significant things that were going on.
Winter, an early critic of King fiction, paved the way and showed critics who followed not only that King was a writer to be taken seriously but also that to write about King’s work required a serious frame of mind.
Today, thirty years after its initial publication, which was followed by updated editions in trade paperback and mass market paperback, Stephen King: The Art of Darkness remains a seminal book about King.
ANTHOLOGIES
If you have any interest in horror fiction, you should not walk but run to your nearest bookstore, online or brick-and-mortar, and hunt down one of Winter’s anthologies. He has three attributes essential to editing an anthology: He has a real talent for titling them (Prime Evil, Revelations, Millennium); he has great literary taste; and he’s got connections to name-brand writers, notably Stephen King (who wrote an original story, “Night Flier,” for Prime Evil), Peter Straub, Clive Barker, and others.
Of the three anthologies, I’d recommend Prime Evil. I especially liked King’s vampire tale, “Night Flier,” an original take on what could have been a hoary tale in the wrong hands. But these stories are all first-rate and worth your time.
As Winter writes in his introduction:
Great horror fiction has never really been about monsters, but about mankind. It shows us something important about ourselves, something dark, occasionally monstrous—and usually in bad taste. Its stories proceed from the archetype of Pandora’s Box: the tense conflict between pleasure and fear that is latent when we face the forbidden and the unknown. In horror’s pages, we open the Box, exposing what is taboo in our ordinary lives, and test the boundaries of acceptable behavior. Its writers literally drag our terrors from the shadows and force us to look upon them with despair—or relief.
45
THE EYES OF THE DRAGON
PHILTRUM PRESS EDITION, 1984
ORIGINAL TITLE: THE NAPKINS
A real limited edition, far from being an expensive autograph stapled to a novel, is a treasure. And like all treasures do, it transforms the responsible owner into a caretaker, and being a caretaker of something as fragile and easily destroyed as ideas and images is not a bad thing but a good one … and so is the re-evaluation of what books are and what they do that necessarily follows.
—STEPHEN KING, “THE POLITICS OF LIMITEDS,” CASTLE ROCK, JULY 1985
As 1984 drew to a close, people on the Kings’ Christmas list looked forward to getting the third installment of The Plant in chapbook form, having received installments in 1982 and 1983. But instead of The Plant, they received a new King novel that wouldn’t see trade publication until February 1987. Originally titled The Napkins, The Eyes of the Dragon was published as a signed limited edition from King’s own Philtrum Press; one thousand copies were sold through a lottery, enabling King to give away 250 inscribed copies. (Twenty-six red-lettered and twenty-six black-lettered copies were also available.)
Printed on heavy stock, the limited edition of The Eyes of the Dragon stands as a sterling example of specialty publishing. Designed by Michael Alpert, who also shepherded The Plant through production, The Eyes of the Dragon featured artwork by a Maine artist named Kenneth R. Linkhaüser (real name: Kenny Ray Linkous).
The Philtrum Press edition of The Eyes of the Dragon: the book and its matching slipcase.
The Eyes of the Dragon remains a rarity among King’s fiction in that it is his only children’s book. Dedicated to his daughter, Naomi King, and to Peter Straub’s son, Ben, The Eyes of the Dragon was written because Stephen King wanted to write a book that his daughter would read. Because she liked to read fantasy, not horror, she had not read any of her father’s books.
That changed with The Eyes of the Dragon.
Michael Alpert said that the book required over 45,000 sheets of paper, made in France, which took four months to produce. The heavy, textured, off-white paper stock does indeed have the “feel” of a linen napkin, which was by intent. Alpert consulted with King throughout the production process. Alpert explained in an August 1985 article for Castle Rock that
We decided that the finished book would be quite large in format, printed from metal type on fine acid-free paper, illustrated with black-and-white line drawings, bound attractively in a sturdy binding, and housed in a matching protective slipcase. This was the general basis from which I began to work on the details of my design.
The title page to The Eyes of the Dragon, with art by Kenneth R. Linkhäuser.
Interior page spread to The Eyes of the Dragon.
From my point of view, a book is very definitely a private theater, and the presentation of a book’s content is very much like the presentation of a play through creative stage-design. Just as the dimming of lights in a theater lets an audience know that they are about to be invited into a world of fantasy, so the design of a book can give visual and psychological space between the content of the book and the rest of the universe. The primary work of a book-designer is to make sure that nothing interferes with a reader’s immersion into the text.
Years later, this oversized edition of The Eyes of the Dragon (8.5 by 13 inches) inspired the work of another classic book designer / publisher, Jerad Walters, on a signed, limited edition of ’Salem’s Lot. Trained in classic book illustration and subscribing to the design tenet of “less is more,” Jared was impressed with the large format of the Philtrum Press edition of The Eyes of the Dragon and decided to make ’Salem’s Lot oversized as well.
In my opinion Alpert’s elegant design for The Eyes of the Dragon is one that other book designers should emulate. Books should be designed to be read. As Alpert pointed out, the priority should always be the “reader’s immersion into the text.” In plainer terms, the reader should find himself “falling” into the book, unaware that he’s reading a book. It’s an illusion that’s easily shattered, especially with bad or inept design that pulls—often jerks—the reader out of the book.
For good reason, the colophon in the back of the book read, in part, “This first edition was designed and cared for by Michael Alpert.”
If you want a copy of the Philtrum Press edition, issued at $120, be prepared to dig deep in your wallet, because its current value hovers around $1,000 a copy.
Though The Eyes of the Dragon is clearly a children’s book, it’s one with teeth. As King explained in the jacket copy of the trade edition, “I respect my daughter enough then—and now—to try and give her my best … and that includes a refusal to ‘talk down.’ Or put another way, I did her the courtesy of writing for myself as well as for her.”
When Stephen finished it and gave it to his daughter, she “took hold of the finished manuscript with a marked lack of enthusiasm. That look gradually changed to one of rapt interest as the story kidnapped her. It was good to have her come to me later and give me a hug and tell me the only thing wrong with it was that she didn’t want it to end. That, my friends, is a writer’s favorite song.”
MICHAEL COLLINGS ON THE EYES OF THE DRAGON
Emerging momentarily from his public personas as the King of Horror and the Master of the Macabre, King here offers a fantasy that is unusually restrained in content and in style. Often criticized for his use of rough street language, King demonstrates in The Eyes of the Dragon that he can follow the verbal decorum of fantasy as ably as that of contemporary horror. In a narrative voice that suggests the lyricism and deceptively simple-seeming power of folk epic and the oral traditions of storytelling, he weaves a tale originally designed for a listening audience—his own children (the novel is dedicated to his daughter and Peter Straub’s son). From the opening sentence, a variation upon the time-honored “Once upon a time,” King rapidly settles into the timeless no-time of fantasy, introducing readers to old King Roland, young and beautiful Queen Sasha (like many queens of fabled lands, she dies early and tragically … in childbirth), the two princes Peter and Thomas, and the evil magician Flagg (the fact that his name is the same as the Dark Man’s in The Stand is no coincidence). All of the major characters reflect the centuries-old conventions of fairy tale, both in personality and in actions. The good queen, for example, is almost too good to live; the evil magician, on the other, is almost too evil to live. In many ways, the land of Delain is a land of physical and moral extremes; the climactic storm, we are told, is the worst in the history of Delain. Certainly Flagg is the most maleficent king’s adviser in its history. Through it all, the storyteller-narrator mediates among these extremes, weaving order out of chaos and stability out of disruption.…
Throughout, King displays his considerable powers as a storyteller, with few episodes that do not relate directly to his primary plot. Each action has repercussions; something as simple as the way the imprisoned Peter’s meals are delivered ultimately becomes a key to restoring the true monarch (not coincidentally, King’s working title was The Napkins, acknowledging the centrality of what at times seems a minor point).
Illustrator Kenny Ray Linkous
A self-taught artist with no professional contacts, Kenny’s first professionally published work was the set of illustrations he did for Stephen King’s The Eyes of the Dragon. No artist could want for a better showcase. That King, who could have called on any number of pro artists, had chosen an unknown spoke well of Kenny’s art. It also spoke well of King, who has a real eye for artwork.
Kenny’s strategy in approaching King directly—to mail him framed artwork—was a long shot; most artists seeking collaborative work with him go through his agent or office staff. The local frame shop he just happened to walk in was Alpert’s, who just happened to be the designer of a book for King, and they were looking for a good pen-and-ink artist. In other words, Kenny was in the right place at the right time with the right art folio.
Kenny’s work for the book is in my opinion much more pleasing than David Palladini’s illustrations for the trade edition, published three years later. Art, though, is a matter of taste: I’m sure there are fans of Palladini who would debate me vigorously on this subject.
In terms of imagination and draftsmanship, Kenny Linkous is a rare talent. I immediately began commissioning him for several projects, and he turned in artwork that delighted everyone.
Kenny’s art for King is available only in the limited edition of The Eyes of the Dragon, which is a shame. From cover to cover, it’s a first-class presentation of an enchanting King novel that I count among my favorites.
Kenny describes how he got the job:
One night in bed I was thinking that since I was doing a series of drawings called “Lunatics,” I would take one of those drawings, have it mounted, and then mail it to him. I’d ask, if you would like to work with a local artist, here’s a sample of my work.
I took it down to a frame shop I picked at random. I walked in, showed Michael Alpert the work, and asked if he would mount it. He asked if this was my work, and could I bring in some more? I immediately thought that he wanted to give me a show.
He said that he was a book designer, that he was designing a book as a limited edition for one of Stephen King’s projects. Michael was very cautious, saying, “Just bring it in. We’ll review it and let you know.”
He had no idea that it was my intention of bringing that drawing to Stephen. A day later, I brought him a portfolio, which he took to Stephen, who looked it over. Then he contacted me, said they liked the work, and asked if I would do the illustrations.
On a fluke, I got the opportunity to work with Stephen King.
46
CASTLE ROCK:
“ALL THE NEWS THAT’S FIT TO PRINT”
If you want the straight stuff about me, subscribe to … Castle Rock.
—STEPHEN KING, LETTER TO THE EDITOR
(BANGOR DAILY NEWS, MARCH 1985)
Christopher Spruce and Stephanie Leonard from Castle Rock.
Christopher Spruce holds up a copy of Castle Rock.
In January 1985, Stephen King’s sister-in-law, who then doubled as his full-time secretary and part-time staffer for Philtrum Press, published the first issue of Castle Rock, inspired by Harlan Ellison’s self-published newsletter, Down the Rabbit Hole. “Castle Rock,” she explained in that first issue, “will be a monthly newsletter and we will have, along with all the news, trivia, puzzles, reviews, classifieds, contests, and, we hope, readers’ contributions.”
The first issue was modest indeed. Six letter-sized pages set in a difficult to read typeface, which made reading a challenge, Castle Rock dramatically jumped in circulation when New American Library began running full-page ads for it in their mass market paperback editions of King’s books.
By the fourth issue, the newsletter morphed into a tabloid-sized newspaper, professionally designed by Stephanie’s brother, Christopher, who was then working full-time as the station director of King’s radio station in Bangor, WZON.
At its peak, Castle Rock, which never had to beat the bushes for subscriptions, reached a circulation high of 5,500 subscribers who paid twelve dollars for a year’s subscription. Issued monthly, Castle Rock became the watering hole for King fans long before the popularity of the Internet made such newsletters obsolete.
For fans of Castle Rock, named after the fictional Maine city that King put on the map, the principal appeal was that it did in fact publish all the news fit to print. Occasionally, despite his initial assertion that he was fine with its publication as long as he didn’t have an active role in it, King contributed text or clarified matters. “Dolan’s Cadillac” first saw publication in Castle Rock, as did a lengthy, two-part essay, “The Politics of Limiteds,” in which King explained from his unique perspective what he liked and disliked about his own limited edition books. (It’s an illuminating essay that, unfortunately, has never been reprinted.)
Castle Rock, frankly, was only for the hard-core King fan. This was their publication, and if you didn’t love Stephen King’s work, you would obviously find it too King-centric. So what if the reviews tended to be uncritical and, often, adulatory, even sycophantic? This was the place for fans to gush, without fear of criticism.
There was even a parody of Castle Rock published, Castle Schlock, which had fans rolling in the aisles. Packed with humor and in-jokes, the late Ray Rexer’s Castle Schlock poked good-natured fun at its inspiration.
Castle Rock finally gave up the ghost in December 1989, when the confluence of King’s avowed retirement from publishing and Chris Spruce’s desire to get his master’s degree made ongoing publication untenable. As Chris explained in an editorial in the last issue:
Rushing to haul the next issue together begins just about the time the previous issue rolled off the presses. It was always done in between this, that, and the other thing. Sometimes it looked that way, too. For the most part, however, it seemed to come out all right. Your letters and cards over the years confirmed that impression.
Castle Rock remains an important part of Stephen King history, much beloved by its subscribers, of whom I count myself. The individual issues are collector’s items i
n their own right. It’s now high time for an enterprising print publisher to issue a serious journal about Stephen King and his work.
47
CYCLE OF THE WEREWOLF
1983
The werewolf from Cycle of the Werewolf, illustrated by Glenn Chadbourne.
Stephen King got propositioned in a hotel lobby, but it wasn’t by a female groupie. He was at a World Fantasy Convention in Providence, Rhode Island, the stomping grounds of H. P. Lovecraft.
That’s how this story starts, but by the time it ends, Bernie Wrightson was also involved, and from there you can draw your own conclusions.
It was 1979 and a specialty publisher, Chris Zavisa of the Land of Enchantment, best known for an art book, Satan’s Tears, by Alex Nino, and the recently published A Look Back, an overview of Bernie Wrightson’s career, approached King with the idea of a calendar: King would write the text, and Bernie would illustrate it.
King was amenable to the idea, in part because he felt guilty. As he wrote in the foreword to Silver Bullet, at the World Fantasy Convention in 1979, he was in the august presence of writers like Frank Belknap Long, Bob Bloch, and Fritz Leiber, none of whom had done anywhere near as well financially as he had.
Long, a member of the original Lovecraft circle, shared guest-of-honor status with King at the convention. The difference was that Long, now in his elder years, “had come up to the convention from New York on a Greyhound bus because, at the age of eightytwo, he could not afford a train ticket, let alone a plane ticket,” wrote King. Bloch and Leiber, King said, were in much better circumstances, but still, the difference between their incomes and his was embarrassing to his fellow writers at the convention because of the great disparity. As King explained in his foreword to Silver Bullet, “They had labored long and honorably in the pulp jungles; I came bopping along twenty years after the demise of Weird Tales, the most important of them, and simply reaped the bountiful harvest they had sown in that jungle.”