Vedddy Eeenterestink...

I started re-reading Stephen King's The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon the other night. I remember not liking this story very much the first time I read it and I thought it was time to give it another shot. I read about 15 pages before tossing it to the bedside table with a distrustful glance. Like Joey and The Shining (also a Stephen King book...hmmm...), I was tempted to put it in the freezer for the night. The next morning, I got up, dressed, and made the bed, carefully ignoring the book. Although I eventually picked it up again, I only did so during daylight hours.

Some of you may be thinking, "So what? King's books are supposed to be scary." Well, this is one of only two of his books that inspire actual fear in me. I am a loyal King fan and I have read a very large portion of his publications, but it is not the horror that draws me. Instead it is the people and their interactions with each other that I most enjoy. King is a master of the character study. Sure, I worry for the ka-tets that I meet in each story. They are succeptable to the spooks and goblins that King creates. I am not. I can easily close my eyes and dream sweet dreams just minutes after finishing a horrifying encounter with Randall Flagg because I know he's not real.

In reading The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon, however, I find my heart pounding with fight-or-flight adrenaline despite the fact that I couldn't care less about the main character. In fact, I would have to go look up her name. It is the forest - beautiful, dangerous, unnoticing - that makes it hard for me to sleep. Mother Nature, in all her glory, is what inspires fright in this Devoted Reader. The boogeyman might not be real, but lightening strikes, carniverous animals and well-hidden cliffs overlooking rocky fields are.

Now, don't misunderstand me. It isn't that I don't like nature. I am a big fan of everything that is out there - waves crashing on a pebble strewn beach, ribbons of sandstone stacked one on top of the other in the hot desert sun, icy expanses filled with puffin and polar bear. Raised in the the woods of northern Minnesota, forests happen to be one of my favorite things. I love the majestic pines and the twittering birds, the fiddler ferns and the buzzing mosquitoes. Okay - maybe not the mosquitoes so much, but I am not generally afraid of the out-of-doors.

You don't have to be afraid of nature to respect it, though. Just this weekend, people all over the continent of Asia were reminded just how powerful Mother Nature really is. One minute everything is fine, and the next, your country is underwater. There is nothing vindictive or premeditated about it. Despite our attempts at anthropomorphizing her, Mother Nature doesn't care about us, one way or the other. When you get right down to it, that makes it all the more frightening to me, because no matter how nice you are to her, she'll cut you down if you are in the wrong place at the wrong time. Trisha (I remembered her name after all) goes so far as to clean up the shell of the hard boiled egg that she ate several hours after wandering off the hiking trail. Does that provide her with any kind of leverage when the rains come? Nope. There is no mercy when you are dealing with nature, no sweet talking yourself out of a difficult situation.

I have read books about murderers and aliens, rabid dogs and little girls with telekinetic powers. I have faced zombies and demonic automobiles and giant spiders (always with the spiders!) without missing a beat. You want to scare me? Set me in the middle of a forest with nothing but the mercies of Mother Nature to protect me. I'll be shaking in my boots, because I know there is no such thing. Apparently, so does Stephen King.

PS - The other King book that really scares me is Gerald's Game. But that's another visit to the couch entirely...