After a few years of hiding my eyes during the bathroom scene in Room 237/217, I decided to confront my fear of The Shining by digesting it in book form. I can vaguely recall a feeling from when I was a kid, a comforting reassurance after reading the story behind a frightening movie. There’s something about the depth of knowledge you gain about the characters and setting in a novel that offsets the shock potential of cinema. By the end of a scary book I sometimes feel more satisfied in my curiosities, more secure about the subjectivity of the images in the story, than if I had just seen the film.
This phenomenon has happened for me again with The Shining: I do feel a little bit better knowing where the scary lady in the bathtub came from after reading the book — a little (tiny) bit better. There is also the theory that reading a book freaks you out more because the images you generate about the story are from your own subconscious, but as much as I like to think that I have a deep disturbed mind (and as much as I am a devoted fan), I’ll take my subconscious any day over Stanley Kubrick’s.
The book definitely got under my skin in its own way, creating a lower hum of fear compared to a month of darting around my apartment afraid of the dark after first seeing the film. Overall it was really a sad story, but it inhabited such a specific exploration of sadness and terror that it persuaded me to commune with supernatural horrors in its pages.
Instead of comparing the book and the film, I’ll assume that many of my gentle readers have seen Kubrick’s adaptation of the story (1980) and haven’t read Stephen King’s novel (1977), or viewed King’s more closely overseen, (and vastly unacclaimed) version of the story for miniseries (1997). With this in mind, I’ll just offer you some tips in case you want to take a stab — or hurl a roque mallet — at The Shining.
Ten Tips for successfully reading The Shining without undue duress:
- Make peace with your entire family before you even click on the Amazon link. I mean everyone, even distant cousins.
- Give up alcohol, but particularly gin, a few days before starting to read.
- If it’s your job to give medicine to a spouse, pet, or child, take a deep breath and start thinking of ways to say ‘Come out and take your medicine’ without, erm, saying that.
- If you’re a once-successful writer whose fallen on hard times, or an academic in a particularly deep career rut, choose a different book.
- Resign yourself early on to the fact that the book is different from the movie. ‘All work and no play…’ — not part of the book. I spent a lot of time trying to guess what would happen next based on the movie, and it’s really not worth it. You can go forward with the ‘This can’t be good..’ prediction instead.
- Just leave the bathroom door open for the duration of your time with this book. It’s better than getting stuck in the same room with a scary bathtub and no way out. Your family/friends/roommates/co-workers will absolutely understand.
- Prepare for some sociological issues with the ghosts — they’re racist, sexist, and classist, total bigots. There are many passages of the book that are scary for reasons other than blood.
- Prepare to love Jack Torrance. He’s one part sympathetic and two parts terrifying, but he’s definitely someone I still wished I could help all the way through the final pages of the book.
- Just leave your furnace alone. It does NOT need to be adjusted.
- Sleep with a blankie and the lights on.
That should help you get started, and maybe you’ll have some things to add. Post any tips you’d like to share in the comments below. And if you’re in Chicago, this is a great week for Kubrick fans at the Music Box Theatre.
