Wednesday's Writerly Happenings

Deleriously White

It’s winter in America and people are sick, or snowed in. DSM Fiction Editor Brian Carr lives in Texas, so snow there ain’t really a factor. Even still, illness, germs, fatigue, they all pervade. Brian is laid up in bed and we wish him well.

Here in the Northwest we’ve had a mild winter — no snow, moderate temperatures and limited rain. But again, illness finds a way in: Our dear fiancée has a red nose, sore throat and aches and pains. We’re keeping our distance and hope that by week’s end she’ll be ready to hike one of Vashon Island’s many beautiful trails.

Most of our family resides on the east coast. So far we have no illnesses to report, but we do have plenty of stories coming into our voicemail regarding the god-forsaken rotten snow and all its dirty leftovers.

Snow + illness = A cold winter sandwich. People tend to grow ill when they’re cooped up indoors. People tend to turn blue when too much white is on the ground. It’s a sandwich few can stomach. Interesting, then, that countless novels, stories and essays have chronicled these very same circumstances and been hugely successful and entertaining reads.

Here’s a couple scenes from three of our favorites. — Kevin Murphy

One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest — Ken Kesey

What this tale lacks in flurries it makes up for in lunacy. It’s provides a satirical, stinging look at mental illness, as well as a spellbinding portrait of what happens when people spend too much time indoors.

When the fog clears to where I can see, I’m sitting in the day room. They didn’t take me to the Shock Shop this time. I remember they took me out of the shaving room and locked me in Seclusion. I don’t remember if I got breakfast or not. Probably not. I can call to mind some mornings locked in Seclusion the black boys keep bringing seconds of everything — supposed to be for me, but they eat it all instead — till all three of them get breakfast while I lie there on that pee-stinking mattress, watching them wipe up their egg with toast.

Dirty Snow — Georges Simenon

Simenon’s masterful account of criminal derelicts carousing the barren streets of an occupied country. If you haven’t read this one yet, maybe wait for Spring.

Kromer, in the middle of the dark alley between the two banks of snow, took the cigar out of his mouth with his left hand. He punched with his right, just once. Then two arms and two legs were in the air, just like a marionette, and then the black form sank down into the pile of snow along the sidewalk. The strangest thing was that there was an orange peel beside the head — something you probably wouldn’t see anywhere in town except in front of Timo’s.

The Shining — Stephen King

This novel is the crown jewel when it comes to combining illness and snow. You’ve seen the movie, you remember Nicholson and those creepy twins. You can see those endless hills of snow and the madcap eyes of Jack Torrence. But have you read the book? If not, we suggest you do. Even if typically you’re not a Stephen King fan, this novel packs a wallop that’ll leave you feeling inspired, simply because you’re not as sick as Torrence and there isn’t as much snow on the ground in your neck of the woods.

“That was your mistake,” Jack said. “A stupid man is more prone to cabin fever as he’s more prone to shoot someone over a card game or commit a spur-of-the-moment robbery. He gets bored. When the snow comes, there’s nothing to do but watch TV or play solitaire and cheat when he can’t get all the aces out. Nothing to do but bitch at his wife and nag at the kids and drink. It gets hard to sleep because there’s nothing to hear. So he drinks himself to sleep and wakes up with a hangover. He gets edgy. And maybe the telephone goes out and the TV aerial blows down and there’s nothing to do but think and cheat at solitaire and get edgier and edgier. Finally … boom, boom, boom.”

Video: The Shining