Prior to its release, there was a real compulsion for people to view Stephen King’s latest novel as a zombie thriller that immediately goes for gore, and drags its characters through a short, three-hundred page, blood-drenched trail of trials and tribulations. Early press for Cell stressed the presence of mindless, flesh-eating zombies, and promised an adventurous romp without the added fat of lengthy character development, overwrought narrative, and pacing fit to bore molasses to tears. In other words, King’s latest novel since his “retirement” looked to be a change of pace from his usual, weighty tomes.
Not having read through these thick volumes, it is outside my province to make any comparisons between their crushing weight, and the current offering of relatively lighter fare. If you’re wondering whether or not King has “returned to his roots” in Cell, I cannot tell you. I can, however, impart an honest affection for this book that is unencumbered by any notions attached to King’s previous work. Regardless of what came before, Cell is an exciting, well-told tale that kept me reading from the very first page until the very last. Would that most afternoons could pass so pleasantly.
As promised by advanced word, and confirmed by the sinister description on the inside jacket, there are zombies in Cell. In fact, King dedicates the novel to Richard Matheson and George Romero, the latter being famous for co-directing the very film that defined the zombie genre (which is Night of the Living Dead, for those who are unaware - and to these people, I have a simple word of advice: watch it). Compare Cell to the Dead series, and one gross similarity is immediately apparent: some mysterious event triggers the widespread appearance of zombies, and civilization disintegrates beneath their dull-witted, shuffling tread.
There are also a few important differences, the first - and most obvious - being that King’s zombies are not the walking dead, but the walking brainwashed. In Romero’s films - and in the work of the many, many who followed his lead - the zombie antagonists are animated corpses driven by an unquenching appetite for live flesh; whereas the zombies featured in Cell are living people whose brains have been wiped out by a mysterious signal sent through their cell phone. Later on in the story, it is surmised by the main characters that this total brain-wipe uncovered a latent savage instinct, which in turn serves as an explanation as to how humanity came out on top of the food chain. Thus, the violent nature of these brainwashed zombies - or “phoners,” as they are eventually dubbed - is due entirely to genetic coding as old as the very species.
Note the omission that this explanation for the phoners’ behavior is surmised by the main characters. This is an important distinction to make, for at no point in Cell does King outright reveal what the Pulse is, how it works, how exactly it affects people, and what they become. Everything the reader learns about the phoners derives from character observation, and lengthy discussions about what might be happening. Of course, one could assume that King is using these conversations as an indirect medium to convey the ideas that lead to this story’s creation - but that would still be an assumption. And as the brilliantly depicted teenage girl, Alice Maxwell, observes, to assume makes an ass out of you and me.
Still, the explanations that the characters put forth are too intriguing to dismiss outright, while the need for them becomes urgent, as the behavior of the phoners begins to change at an increasingly rapid pace. Herein lies another difference between King’s portrayal of zombies and that of others: in Cell, the zombies start out as blood-thirsty, raving killers - but then they change. First, they stop attacking each other on first sight. Then, they actually start to help each other. They gather in groups, and establish a daily rhythm that culminates in a mass exodus to some hidden place, where they spend the night in collective solitude.
What they actually do at night is a major plot element in the story, and won’t be given away here. The point is that King is not out to rehash the zombie thriller in a prose format. Cell may feature entire flocks of zombies, but they a logical extension of King’s exploration into what lies deep within the human mind, beneath all the conditioning required by civilized society. Suppose that a human brain was completely wiped of all higher functions; what would remain? How would that person act? What might they become? King’s answers to these questions are applied as the main ideas of the story - and they are horrific, fantastic, and great fun to read. Past the initial carnage wrought by the phoners, the story takes some weird turns, until it begins to feel like a full-blown episode of the The Twilight Zone.
Along with his spelunking into the chthonic reaches of the human mind, King also portrays a post-apocalyptic America, and the manner in which people continue their lives. Unexpectedly, this aspect of the story is far more startling than the gore, the phoners, or anything else in Cell. For rather than settling for the usual routine of rampant savagery, violent survivalism, and a widespread lapse in moral behavior, King posits a landscape where the survivors keep to themselves, and seek out a peaceful respite with a minimum amount of conflict. There are no crazy militia-men/soldiers resorting to some brutal form of tribalism supported by slavery; nor large biker gangs roaming the streets, plundering the more peaceful folk at will; nor religious fanatics murdering anyone who refuses their version of events.
What happens when civilization crumbles into an unworkable heap? In King’s view, the survivors wander about the remains, suffering from all the symptoms that come with shellshock, pulled by vague hopes of re-uniting with their loved ones. A few people keep their heads, and put forth ideas that promote both survival, and peaceful coexistence. As strangers pass each other by, they keep each other informed by sharing anecdotes, news, and advice. Civilization may no longer exist as its former citizens know it, but the conditioning that allowed them to live in proximity remains in place. Compared to the majority of post-apocalyptic fiction, King’s version contains a healthy serving of hope.
Appropriately enough, this is the tone of the novel’s end. America - and, one must assume, the world - has become unrecognizable in the wake of the phoners, and those who have survived are left with more pieces than anything else. But this does not deter one of the characters from searching for his lost son, and the scene that follows his success is filled with pathos that is well-earned. In the hands of other writers, Cell could have been a bloody, wretched little book that went for gore, and little else; in King’s capable hands, the story is populated with characters who elicit real compassion, adding the element of tragedy to the horrific events meant to entertain.
Call it a horror novel, or a technothriller, or post-apocalyptic novel - it doesn’t matter. Cell does not easily fit into any category, for the simple reason that King does not appear to be writing with any agenda other than telling a good story. And what does one find in a good story? Excitement, characters you care about, and ideas that carry on well after the last page. All of which can be found in Cell.
This is why, a year after King’s retirement, the appearance of this book should not be an anomaly. King is first, and foremost, a storyteller - and one does not simply cease being a storyteller by announcing retirement. The art of telling stories does not stop at a certain age, and most certainly does not stop at the sight of the word “retirement.” For most of his life, King has told stories that other people want to read. Why should this be any different? One thing I do know: I’m glad that it isn’t.
