quillofacrow

[quillofacrow]

Two Talented Bastids by Stephen King --- my post-read croon

Review on Two Talented Bastids from Stephen King's anthology You Like It Darker --- Spoilers Ahead:

There is no doubt that Stephen King works hard to bring stories of magnitude and relatability into the hands of his dedicated readers; his exact pursuit of devotion is within the anthology’s title as a salute to that same audience. “You like it darker? Well, so do I.”  This call came from the crowd, and King is looking to deliver. He breaks the spine of both the reader and the book with an introduction story that takes place over a whopping 60 pages: Two Talented Bastids. Of course, as is the usual with work written by King, moving through this chunk of prose is a fast paced breeze with near no time to process the events of the last page before the next is taunting you to keep going. Even the mundane events of two artistic hunters lazing around a forest on their annual camp becomes heart pumping when you yourself realize the woods that are written in King’s pages are much too silent than one familiar with it would expect at this time of year.

Where does creativity come from? How does talent work?

King uses this story as a reference guide to answer those questions that are asked at every opportunity in an artist’s journey. “How did you get here?” As if there is some magical answer that any creative can give to aid a scenario replication. So, King presents an answer as plainly as this: aliens. Specifically, aliens that come to earth in the form of dumpster divers and appreciate humanity as opposed to wanting to destroy it. This response is ridiculous upon initial investigation (even the story admits the lack of plausibility throughout), however, this answer is as good of one as any when The Actual Creative Truth is revealed: talent and creativity exist within people because they just do.

Is this story in of itself a comment on the mental health (or lack thereof) in most creatives, which then can be showcased in their work?

Even for the narrator to be informed of this unbelievable retelling of events in the way he was is sort of an irony — the proof of alien existence at all is provided by a well documented and very successful fiction writer. Throughout the initial pages, the narrator supplies readers with reviews of his father’s writing, all of them written with high praise. He even admits that his father’s fiction has cast a huge shadow over his own desire to write novels. There are no shortcomings within his work, Pop always was an amazing writer and it is affirmed by the narrator himself over again. So, the doubt is beyond reasonable when his son didn’t believe his alien gifted talent was real. But the narrator goes to that cabin anyway (was it how convincing his father’s writing was? Or perhaps plain old curiosity? Greed?), and found the exact case that was described, untouched and in the place it was supposed to be.

This narrator has an understanding from his father’s text that the aliens' instructions for the case is to blow on it, and the spearmint coated breath within the case is to unlock the potential inside of the recipient. So, with the case being real, a lot of things can come true at once: aliens did contact Pop and Uncle Butch, their talents were already present but internal, and the same will not happen for you. There is a sense of “Oh, of course that’s why I was never picked,” and also, “You’re full of shit — you just got lucky that day.”

The beauty of this story is that neither of these claims are really true. It is not lucky to encounter an alien that looks like a Gumby-fied version of a human woman, Uncle Butch’s action of performing CPR on her was very intentional because he wanted to save her life. There is no accident in restoring another being. “Breath is life,” as the gift bearing alien would explain in an attempt to express the magnitude of the live saving action Butch performed for one of their race. So they make the same intentional decision of presenting the heroes with a dose of what the aliens claim to be their breath — an eye for an eye, but lungs instead.

All of the effects thereafter are only implied to have worked in relation to the gifted breath case, there is never really a solid justification that what happened that day directly correlated to their talents coming in overnight. Maybe the encounter alone was enough to inspire the pair, but the aliens knew that would be too much of a shock, and presented the talented bastids with a piece of space junk that would relatively appease human comprehension. Perhaps the case was filled with a sedative, like Uncle Buck suspected. Regardless, the placebo worked; the case unlocked the talents within both men that would bewilder any curious mind that prodded too close.

Just like the fence surrounding the cabin itself, locked loosely with a key that freely existed on a ring of keys that the narrator was familiar enough with to call “Pop’s keys”, the old man safely guarded that secret with distance but in plain view for his entire life. And, with the paid out insurance policy, expected his son to keep the same secret. Conveniently for both of the talented and star-touched men, the truth within the secret is so far-fetched and hopeful that, even with the case in his hand, the narrator would be far too interested in forgetting about ever knowing it than sharing. Exposing the secret item that caused his father’s fame to skyrocket would only cause his own shadow to grow bigger than it ever had, and he would be mobbed instead with fame of claiming alien existence from so many decades ago. Recognition would not be worth the struggle of realizing that the true gift of understanding himself does not extend to him. Remembering the case exists would be a physical realization that the talent inside of him and his desire to be better than mundane had waned years ago.

Stephen King does not provide a clear answer to the questions that fans and aspiring authors who take on the self assigned task of admiring his throne have asked countless times. He tells the truth through a story so ridiculous that you must find the answer in coming to terms with your own desires. If you want technical advice, you ought to look into On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft by him instead. In Two Talented Bastids, King will slap wannabe creatives with a proverbial (alien) fish:

If talent comes from within, you must believe you have some to get it out.

[quillofacrow]

Bridge inspection crow style.

This is the bridge of the metro and the crows are looking for spiders to eat and controlling the structural safety of course.

(yes, the metro in Hamburg is not a pure underground, but runs partly on bridges through the city)