How best to sum up Stephen King, a wildly popular writer who has published at least one gargantuan tome a year for five decades? First, it’s important to consider that he exploded into America’s popular consciousness at exactly the right time, when the dissolution of 1960s bohemia and the moral rot of Richard Nixon weighed heavily on the national conscience. If John Wayne was the heart of populist America after the Second World War, then King took his place as the grizzled poster boy of an empire in decline.

In the wake of Vietnam and Watergate, the bona fide master of horror rose to fame with characters who were, both literally and figuratively, haunted by iconography of America’s recent past, whether that meant a possessed 1958 Plymouth Fury, a haunted hotel housing malignant spirits of the Roaring Twenties, or a vampire picking off the scraps of an economically depressed American town. In a world of increasing moral complexity, the men and women of King’s stories pine for a simple tale of good and evil, and come to regret their decision when that longing becomes a reality. 

With more than 70 works to his name, the Maine-born writer has understandably moved beyond his initial preoccupations to create worlds which move fluidly from sci-fi to mystery and high fantasy to gumshoe detective pastiches. Yet no matter where his interests lie at any given time, the sense of vaguely campy, quasi-literary macabre always lies at the heart of his yarns, told with the wide-eyed thrill of a well-paced scare around a campfire. 

If you’ve always fancied diving into the work of the most popular writer in the world but find yourself overwhelmed by the sheer volume of his output, here are a few recommendations, as well as some duds best consigned to the dustbin of shame. 

Where to start

While his first two novels, Carrie (1974) and Salem’s Lot (1975), are excellent fun, The Shining (1977) is where the quality of King’s prose begins to match his sprawling ambition. Following the feverish meltdown of writer Jack Torrance as he acts as temporary caretaker in the isolated Overlook Hotel, the novel aims its laser-sharp focus on a tiny number of characters, drilling into their psyches to uncover family trauma, struggles with addiction, petty resentments and desire for escape.

Beyond the propulsive façade of the writing, which whizzes by with King’s usual alacrity, what’s really impressive is how little happens in The Shining until its crazed ‘let’s crank the horror up to 11’ third act (almost an entire chapter is devoted to a five-year-old’s conviction that an old fire hose may have moved of its own volition in a corridor). The action is, for the most part, as mysterious as a strange sound in the middle of the night that you can’t quite put your finger on, and all the better for it. 

If the Torrance family have given you a thirst for King’s unique energy, then it’s time to move on to the most ambitious effort of his career. The Stand (1978), his fourth published novel, is no slouch in the length department; at 1153 pages in its unexpurgated edition, this story of an influenza epidemic wiping out most of humanity was an attempt to transpose the epic qualities of Tolkien onto contemporary America, weaving together a vast number of characters into an existential battle between good and evil. It’s also a testament to some of his worst excesses, rammed with deus ex machina get-outs and an earnest slant towards sentimentality. But there’s always rough with smooth in King, and this sprawling work is a real showcase for his talent with doorstop novels that combine high-concept storytelling with soulful, morally ambiguous characters. And in a post-covid world, the prescience of The Stand makes it all the more bracing. 

Where to continue 

With an author who relies so heavily on the mechanisms of plotting and meticulous pace, taking a peek at his process is fascinating. 1981’s Danse Macabre (a treatise on the value of horror media) and 2000’s On Writing (his book on, well, writing) are both stand-out works, offering a unique insight into an individual whose taste spans from the great American literary canon to the cheapest 1950s pulp novels. Pitched between a geek’s enthusiastic diary and an aggressive lecture from an eccentric English lit professor, both are funny, accessible and proudly unacademic explorations into how taste shapes us all. 

King cites Lisey’s Story (2006) as a personal favourite from his bibliography, in part because of how expertly it balances his passion for genre with his more poetic literary qualities. Inspired by the real-life relationship with his wife (the author Tabitha King), Lisey is a widow who reminisces on the life of her late husband, a wildly successful novelist, and uncovers increasingly disturbing memories as the novel progresses. Acting as a companion piece to Misery (1987), this is King reckoning with his mortality without ever devolving into cliché. 

What to avoid

Such was his popularity in the mid-1980s, there were times when demand for a new King story outstripped supply. Enter Cycle Of The Werewolf (1983), a curio too slight to be called a novella but too drawn-out to be satisfying as a short story. This lycanthrope yarn was originally intended as a calendar, with small portions of its narrative eked out over 12 months alongside accompanying illustrations from comic-book artist Bernie Wrightson. Instead, it’s spread thinly across 120 pages and 12 meagre chapters, although Wrightson’s delightfully gory art may make it worth seeking out for horror aficionados. The werewolf itself is woefully mundane when he comes out of hiding once a month (stalk, terrorise a small town, kill, end the chapter with a grisly flourish) proving that these oversized canines are the worst antagonists in horror fiction. It is, ahem, a howler. 

Another intriguing yet slight entry in the King canon is The Colorado Kid (2005), an anti-detective snoozefest in which two old-timer newspapermen regale their plucky young intern with the story of an unsolved death. Written to bolster the brand-new Hard Case Crime imprint, there’s something gleefully masochistic about King dedicating his time to a mystery that he has no intention of solving (one which he describes as ‘a sneeze which threatens but never quite arrives’). Yet this deconstruction never reaches beyond the mundane, lacking enough pace to give its postmodern flourishes bite. Its characters understand the machinations of a good mystery but are woefully unable to crank anything into gear themselves. There are some excellent entries in King's later career, but this one ain't it. 

Stephen King: You Like It Darker is published by Scribner on Tuesday 21 May.