If God were to come up to me and say "Hey, did you know that the whole of American history exists just so that Stephen King would write Pet Sematary?"
I would say "Duh!"
Pet Sematary is the reason why I won't write a horror novel. Even if I managed to complete one (probability about equal to Iran hosting the next Miss World pageant) it would suck.
It would suck for two reasons. Firstly, people would read Pet Sematary, then read mine, and then say "Ryan your novel will forever suck, because it's not Pet Sematary".
Secondly, it would suck because it would be, however hard I try to avoid it, a sort of inferior imitation of Pet Sematary, and then people reading it would go "Hey! He totally ripped off Stephen King! And maybe Borges!"
I am so not kidding.
In fact, I believe that in some literature course held 50 years from now, there will be a conversation like this:
"Class, why do we say Northanger Abbey sucks?" (It does, btw)
"Because it's not Pet Sematery"
"Outstanding Linda! You're gonna be a goddamn Nobel Prize Winning Critic someday!"
In all seriousness, I am in awe of this novel. Pet Sematary compresses, within its pages, several volumes on humanist philosophy, discussions of life after death, the implications of mortality on the human psyche, the primeval association of death, transformation and rebirth as a journey, the role of fatherhood, the nature / nurture argument, the territorial drive latent in humanity, the differentiation between man and animal, the theological aspects of particular judgement, the symptoms of repression and PTSD, gender differentiation, and the Pax Americana in the 1980's.
Just think about it. All of the above really is in the novel.
Now Harold Bloom (a sort of Frank Kermode who is infinitely inferior to Frank Kermode) should probably have read Pet Sematary carefully before following his usual routine and deciding that his analysis of a writer is correct, and that everyone else is talking nonsense (I mean, seriously, there's a negative comment on every writer from Marquez to Auster on the introduction page of his author series).
Maybe instead of spending his time ranting on the applicability of Jewish mysticism to literary criticism (yes, I have a copy of it and he so can't deny it) Harold Bloom, along with all of his philosopher friends who should go back to their own offices, stop hijacking literary studies (I am looking squarely at Derrida, God rest his soul anyway) and read Pet Sematary.
Because it's profound, a damn good novel, and it would be a great break from Nausea, which sucks. Even if Sartre doesn't.



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