Nostalgia, much like the fragility of childhood memories, is a fickle thing . At an older age, we often look back on the days of our youth with mixed feelings. Sometimes we long for the simplicity of childhood, sometimes we cower in fear at the traumas of the past, and sometimes it’s a combination of the two. The act of remembering is a delicate thing, a practice born of comfort while also bearing the danger of complacency, getting stuck in a time that’s long since passed you by. No work of fiction better examines the role of fear, friendship, and growth than Stephen King’s It, a book that sets the bar for the “coming of age” subgenre of fiction.
Perhaps one of the most divisive works in his extensive catalog, It has loomed large over my stack of books begging to be read. Recently, I decided to take the daunting trip to Derry, Maine, a town that has perpetually turned a blind eye to all things wrong in the land of King’s dominion. Clocking in at over 1,100 pages, It is an intimidating read, not only for its length but for the extreme feelings nearly every reader feels about this book. In the horror community, there is no doubt that this is one of the most beloved books among many readers. Yet, in a remarkable feat of duality, a certain scene damns the book to garbage, irredeemable beyond any measure (believe me, these folks are sure to tell you about it when you mention you’re giving It a go). Regardless of public opinion, preferences for adaptations, or the incessant fist-shaking directed toward King for writing this book, in my personal experience reading this novel, I found so much heart, so much love, and so much bravery at the core of this story. It is a wicked tale surrounding seven children who dare to confront evil head-on when no adult can.
Of course, there are aspects of It that have aged poorly (beep, beep Richie), but I’m not here to write a piece about everything that didn’t work for me. It is my hope that this piece examines the greatest aspects of this monumental story based on my own personal time spent with It. In six days, I absolutely devoured this book, a woman possessed. I became so captivated by The Losers’ Club that putting down the book was simply not an option. A book of such an extensive length seems to welcome issues of pacing or lagging, but It felt perpetually compelling. There’s a race to discover the fate of The Losers’ Club, if the entity known as Pennywise can really be defeated, and how the hell you confront an evil of this nature, not once in a lifetime, but twice.
And here is where I warn of spoilers. This in-depth reflection of my reading experience with It will venture into territory not offered by the synopsis so tread with caution moving forward. Hi-yo Silver, away, let’s begin.
The Malevolent Indifference of Derry
“Haunted, haunting, haunt…Often visited by ghosts or spirits, as in the pipes under the sink; to appear or recur often, as every twenty-five, twenty-six, or twenty-seven years; a feeding place for animals, as in the cases of George Denbrough, Adrian Mellon, Betty Ripsom, the Albrecht girl, the Johnson boy… A feeding place for animals. Yes, that’s the one that haunts me.”
In the very first Derry interlude written by Mike, we see Derry compared to an animal, a being that operates on instincts, void of humanity in the name of survival. The indifference to cruelty that is so common in a feral animal is befitting of a place such as Derry where Pennywise is free to do as it pleases, take what it wants, feast. This place provides one of the most unique landscapes for evil to thrive, a town that literally exists in a realm of acquiescence to terror.
One of the most heinous forms of abuse comes in the shape of ignorance rather than active violence. A level of care is found within strong feelings of love or hate among human beings, two sides of the same coin. However, indifference escalates to neglect, and what is one to do with this void of emotion? It is in this way that Derry exists as one of the most nefarious settings in horror literature. Time and time again, we see the adults, the folks who should be in charge, who should care the most, walk away or shrug off the cruel happenings occurring in their own homes, their streets. This doesn’t stem from a place of unawareness; we see repeatedly through Mike Hanlon’s writing that many people are abundantly aware of something otherworldly thriving in Derry. Their inaction is a choice, giving way to a tolerance for murdered children every twenty-seven(ish) years. King’s careful creation of such a place for both our proverbial heroes and villains to call home is downright bone-chilling, giving Pennywise the perfect playground to enact their harm.
Matters of the Childhood Heart: The Losers’ Club
In stark contrast to this evil and indifference, The Losers’ Club consisting of Mike, Bill, Eddie, Stan, Bev, Ben, and Richie is the antithesis of what festers in Derry. Aside from talk of cosmic fate and purpose, The Losers’ Club functions from a place of childhood love and respect, a dynamic that is often difficult to capture, the pureness of young friendship. King cements himself as the most effective author to give life to the idea of youth and comradery through The Losers’ Club. Reading It and discovering what the days of summer looked like for these kids brought back memories of my own childhood when bikes were key in transportation, you came home when the streetlights went on, and to be imaginative was to have power.
These hallmark characteristics of childhood shined particularly bright in a few specific characters. In ways I didn’t expect, Ben Hanscom absolutely stole my heart and attention with his kindness, loyalty, and sincerity. Much of King’s writing comes off as cruel towards Ben given his weight, but what manages to outshine this repeated (problematic) characterization is the size of Ben’s heart. We of course see this in his love for Bev, a pure puppy love that left me constantly saying, “Oh, sweet Ben.” He repeatedly stands up for what he believes in, showing bouts of incredible strength when any of his friends are placed in danger. Ben is a very admirable character for these reasons and some that are hard to put into succinct words. Maybe I see part of myself in him, the kid who spends lots of his time in the library. Who feels immense outrage when being bullied, but even more anger when his books are damaged. In whichever case, Ben is a kindred spirit, a character that will stay with my soul for a lifetime.
Naturally, I found myself aligning and relating to Bev, the only female in The Losers’ Club. Her story is one of complexity which is framed around the initial abuse she suffers from her father and eventually her husband. In some ways, I struggle with how much of Bev’s identity is wrapped around the pain she endures. Yet, I can also appreciate how important stories such as hers are told, the exploration of cycles of abuse, and her acceptance of her definition of care. King walks a very fine line in writing Bev this way, yet I do not believe he fails her character entirely.
Bev is tough, intelligent, and creative. She’s bold in her emotions, being one of the first Losers to admit to an experience with Pennywise following her harrowing encounter with copious amounts of blood in her own bathroom as a child. Additionally, she isn’t afraid to stand up for herself when she feels the other Losers may be treating her unfairly on the basis of her gender. This is clearly depicted in two particular scenes from her childhood:
“’Beverly, maybe you better, uh, go back toward the dump for awhile,’ Ben said. His hands were full of rocks…’Shit on that,’ she said. ‘Shit all over that, Ben Hanscom.’ She bent and began to gather rocks herself.”
“’This is something more than some diddlyshit kid’s game like tag or guns or hide-and-go-seek, and you know it, Bill. We’re supposed to do this. That’s part of it. And you’re not going to cut me out just because I’m a girl. Do you understand? You better, or I’m leaving right now. And if I go, I’m gone. For good. You understand?’”
She’s a kid after my heart, running with the boys and not letting any perceived differences slow her down. While it would be ideal that the rest of the Losers don’t even acknowledge her gender as a factor, it wouldn’t be very realistic. I love the fact that she’s the one selected to control the slingshot when confronting Pennywise at the Neibolt Street house, exemplifying the innate trust the rest of the Losers have in her abilities. These moments of her resiliency and strength shine while also existing within the same narrative that labels her as a “victim” of abuse.
Bev’s life as an adult is not all that different compared to her life as a child, something that feels tragic to witness. Her father’s imprint upon her life is indescribable, his influence reaching long from the grave.
“In later years, long after she stopped thinking about Derry at all, she would see a man sitting on the bus or maybe standing on a corner with his dinnerbucket in his hands, shapes, oh shapes of men, sometimes seen as a day closed down, sometimes seen across Watertower Square in the noonlight of a clear windy autumn day, shapes of men, rules of men, desires of men: or Tom, so like her father when he took off his shirt and stood slightly slumped in front of the bathroom mirror to shave. Shapes of men.”
While she escapes the grasp of her harmful father, her husband is an abuser and a bully, a man who gains satisfaction from women’s pain. Of course, I wanted more for Bev, to not see her in pain once more. However, it is an incredibly realistic outcome for her adult self based on the weight of her childhood experiences. This is proven through the logic she imparts on coming to find comfort in what she knows best, whether it’s peace or suffering.
“’Oh, I knew it – somewhere – all along, I guess. He hits and he hurts. I married him because…because my father always worried about me, I guess. No matter how hard I tried, he worried. And I guess I knew he would approve of Tom. Because Tom always worried, too. He worried a lot. And as long as someone was worrying about me, I’d be safe. More than safe. Real.’”
Bev’s desire to feel “real” in a world that harbors the greatest of evils in man and otherworldly entities isn’t an outrageous request. Her definition of “real” may feel warped and ugly to some, but there is no doubt that it is the truth that she has come to know made evident by her childhood experiences. In this way, King’s decision to write her character with such an arc doesn’t feel exploitive or performative, but rather heartbreakingly real.
Lastly, Eddie Kaspbrak and his relationship with his mother made for one of the more emotional dynamics within this book. Any child who has been close to their parent knows how complicated feelings can become during periods of growth. Eddie’s mother smothers him constantly, making him reliant upon a respirator for asthma he doesn’t even have. In many ways, Eddie’s “condition” feels like manufactured anxiety at the hands of Sonia Kaspbrak, a mother who simply cannot let go. One of the more powerful scenes of my reading experience comes from Eddie’s confrontation with his mother after discovering his medicine is a placebo. Even in this emotionally powered scene, King still manages to remind us of the fragility of innocence as Eddie can’t even properly name the word “pla-cee-bo,” but maintains the idea that he must stand up to his mother. This confrontation reads as one of the many encapsulations of growth from youth to maturity within the pages of It.
Reflecting on my reading experience through the lens of the Losers, I can’t help but feel that my mentality now as an adult proves many of King’s themes. He imparts the importance of connection and community with the formation of the Losers, a band of kids who rely on each other in the darkest of times to overcome a force that adults won’t even acknowledge. The Losers’ action against Pennywise demonstrates that being an adult requires an acceptance of the bleak reality and responsibility that childhood has the power to overcome. Much like the adult Losers forgetting the events of 1958, King’s writing also delivered the realization that I forgot many memories of my own childhood. This novel brought them roaring back, giving credence to the magic of youth and the oppressive nature of maturity. Spending time with the Losers in The Barrens, fighting Pennywise, and coming to learn the truth of the world around them makes for one of the most emotional reading experiences I can recall as a now twenty-five-year-old woman. Gone are the days of imagining jungle landscapes in the middle of the suburbs or building forts out of scrounged materials, but man, is it nice to look (briefly) back.
Leadership and Fate
And now we have arrived at one of my more, perhaps, controversial opinions. King establishes time and time again that the natural leader of The Losers’ Club is Bill Denbrough, the boy who lost his younger brother in the very first scene of the novel. I won’t argue that Bill does have specific leadership qualities, but I would argue that Mike Hanlon feels more so like the natural leader of the group given his sacrifices and devotion to keeping watch over Derry.
The idea of fate is often mentioned, especially in the latter half of this novel through what is known as The Turtle. Forces beyond our comprehension are at play both concerning good and evil in It, specifically in the basic formation of The Losers’ Club. King goes so far as to mention another kid who played with the Losers who was not fated to be a piece of this intricate puzzle. The result is an unremarkable fizzling of his presence, a fading into the background. We repeatedly hear the special number seven regarding The Losers’ Club with Big Bill as their leader. In times of stress and peril, the children frequently look to Bill for solutions even though Bill possesses no quantifiable special abilities that would qualify him for that of leader aside from the fact that he has suffered the greatest at the hands of Pennywise.
So my greatest question is, why must suffering equate to power? And if we follow that logic, couldn’t we argue that Mike has suffered a fair bit as well and makes the choice to stay in Derry, preserve its true history, and make the call when Pennywise reemerges? I do acknowledge that Mike is the last one to join the Losers, the last piece of the proverbial puzzle. However, there is no shortage of suffering for Mike Hanlon.
As children, he loses his dog, Mr. Chips, to Henry Bowers who we later see is a conduit of sorts for Pennywise. Additionally, Mike’s father was present for the tragedy at The Black Spot proving Pennywise’s influence over the Hanlon family for decades. These instances of trauma and loss may not equate to the loss of a brother such as in Bill’s case, but Mike’s life has not been without pain.
Beyond these ideas of the weight of suffering, he feels like the true leader of the Losers, particularly in adulthood. Taking on the role of historian, Mike’s (technically King’s, this is getting meta) “Derry Interludes” at the end of each chapter provide gripping writing that details the strangest of occurrences of violence linked to Pennywise. It’s not an exaggeration to say these sections contain some of King’s (Mike’s?) best writing in terms of immersive storytelling and unique voice. Even in this decision to record the history of Derry, there’s a certain responsibility Mike assumes by venturing out and asking people for their stories of wrongness. His job to document and thus find an answer as to what stops Pennywise feels like one of the most vital roles and show how tremendously dedicated Mike is to the cause. The Losers’ Club’s fight against Pennywise may have originated in their youth, but its conclusion comes twenty-something years later all because of Mike’s work.
In what I feel is one of the most heartbreaking aspects of this novel, Mike is the only member of The Losers’ Club who even recalls the events of their childhood, carrying the burden of all that transpired in 1958 for the entire group. This makes the novel’s resolution even more poignant given that Mike finally gains the ability to forget, an odd action to treasure. King explores the delicate balance of nostalgia and finding a home in the past with this character arc harkening again to the complexities of growing older and looking back. Upon realizing he is unable to record or recall the events surrounding the destruction of Pennywise as an adult, Mike wonders what he will do next for one of the first times in his life.
“I’m almost done with this diary now – and I suppose a diary is all that it will ever be, and that the story of Derry’s old scandals and eccentricities has no place outside these pages. That’s fine with me; I think that, when they let me out of here tomorrow, it might finally be time to start thinking about some sort of new life…although just what that might be is unclear to me. I loved you guys, you know. I loved you so much.”
This lengthy character study of Mike Hanlon is all to say that, in my eyes, he feels like the inherent, natural leader of The Losers’ Club. This is no slight against Bill, and perhaps this is my own bias of wanting evidence to support the role of leader rather than claiming fate. In any case, the reason for the Losers’ success over Pennywise can’t be attributed to any one member, but rather to their unity as a whole.
Fear Itself as Pennywise the Dancing Clown
The idea of an otherworldly entity encapsulating the epitome of fear itself is hard to conceptualize, yet Stephen King finds a vessel for this exact thing in the form of Pennywise the Dancing Clown. What better way to instill fear in children than to subvert their expectations by making the goofiest, allegedly happiest of folks into a monster? It’s hard to imagine a world in which we don’t mistrust clowns, all thanks to the cultural icon of Pennywise and folks like John Wayne Gacy. Within the pages of It, King forms one of the most horrendous beings that, without its guise, can’t even be comprehended by humans.
By all accounts, the arrival of Pennywise we see through Richie and Mike’s vision in the smoke hole seems to place it in the classification of alien. We can even partially connect this to its formal name of “Bob Gray” which could possibly be a reference to “little gray men.” Yet, its form is not one that we can understand and lends itself to be able to take the form of what is most horrific to any one person. The idea of “other” is hard to detail and is possibly what makes Pennywise so terrifying. We are unable to succinctly classify it, to pin it under any one needle. How do you defeat something you can’t even comprehend?
The character who understands this idea all too well is Stan Uris, a man who ultimately picks death when confronted with Pennywise once more. Stan’s suicide works a long way in establishing very early on in the novel just how much malevolence Pennywise holds. A grown man opts out of this world rather than face this entity again. I’ve seen many folks postulate why Stan is the only member of the Losers’ Club who suffers this fate, but I do believe the following passages characterize Stan best:
“Offended, yes…You can live with fear, I think, Stan would have said if he could. Maybe not forever, but for a long, long time. It’s offense you maybe can’t live with, because it opens up a crack inside your thinking, and if you look down into it you see there are live things down there, and they have little yellow eyes that don’t blink, and there’s a stink down in that dark, and after awhile you think maybe there’s a whole other universe down there…Everything leads to everything, he would have told them if he could. Go to your church and listen to your stories about Jesus walking on water, but if I saw a guy doing that I’d scream and scream and scream. Because it wouldn’t look like a miracle to me. It would look like an offense.”
“’He said he could stand to be scared, but he hated being dirty. That seemed to me the essence of Stan. Maybe it was just too much, when Mike called. He saw his choices as being only two: stay alive and get dirty or die clean. Maybe people really don’t change as much as we think. Maybe they just…maybe they just stiffen up.’”
Stan, as a child, is often characterized by his maturity and understanding of the world around him. He’s the first person to offer a rational solution to Bev’s bloody bathroom, a practical decision at its core. Through this rationality, we also see that he is a kid who fully rejects terrible things when they happen, banishing the uncanny into the realm of impossible.
“’Duh-don’t let it g-g-get y-you, man,” Bill said. ‘Yuh-you suh-saw it, t-t-too.’
‘I didn’t want to!’ Stan wailed. Sweat stood out on his brow in an oily sheen.
‘But y-y-you duh-duh-did.’
Stan looked at the others, one by one. He ran his hands through his short hair and fetched up a great, shuddering sigh. His eyes seemed to clear of that lowering madness that had so disturbed Bill.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes. Okay. Yes. That what you want? Yes.”
These instances best demonstrate Stan’s characterization that led to his ultimate decision to not confront Pennywise once again as an adult. To the other Losers, his death is harrowing and adds an even more daunting layer to Pennywise’s power and reach. So how do you confront something that can drive a grown man to choose his assured destruction?
King’s answer to this question comes in the form of childhood imagination, the ability to suspend reality however briefly to face your fears and take a stand against the inexplicable. Numerous instances occur in which the adults of Derry walk away from danger or turn a blind eye to abuse as mentioned previously. Maybe this is because adulthood guarantees the understanding of just how horrific, just how wrong these things are in addition to the understanding of how much of them will be asked to resolve this conflict. Maybe childlike wonder proves itself to be key in conquering the worst. Maybe we need to be reminded of this sentiment time and time again in a world plagued with the harsh realities of adulthood. Maybe this is why the adults must remember their childhood to defeat Pennywise once again.
“But together they had discovered an alarming secret that even It had not been aware of, that belief has a second edge. If there are ten thousand medieval peasants who create vampires by believing them real, there may be one – probably a child – who will imagine the stake necessary to kill it. But a stake is only stupid wood; the mind is the mallet which drives it home.”
Where It All Ends, For Better or Worse
And end, It must. The conclusion of this thousand-page tome is perhaps one of the most emotional pieces of literature I have ever read. Even reflecting on the final passages now, weeks after finishing this novel, I find myself tearing up at Mike’s ability to finally forget, Bill’s joy of riding Silver, and the dissolution of The Losers’ Club once more. A thousand pages is a long time to spend with characters, and quite frankly, the conclusion of It felt as though I was leaving Derry for the last time, saying goodbye to my friends, and never looking back. These pages include some of the most impressive writing from Stephen King with passages that still give me goosebumps upon reading time and time again:
“You don’t have to look back to see those children; part of your mind will see them forever, live with them forever, love with them forever. They are not necessarily the best part of you, but they were once the repository of all you could become. Children I love you. I love you so much. So drive away quick, drive away while the last of the light slips away, drive away from Derry, from memory…but not from desire. That stays, the bright cameo of all we were and all we believed as children, all that shone in our eyes even when we were lost and the wind blew in the night. Drive away and keep smiling. Get a little rock and roll on the radio and toward the life there is with all the courage you can find and all the belief you can muster. Be true, be brave, stand. All the rest is darkness.”
Endings like this hurt, saying goodbye hurts. But, this is a necessary part of life, a part beautifully written in the Losers’ Club’s journey. My time with Bev, Richie, Ben, Mike, Bill, and Eddie is a time that I treasure deeply, a reading experience I feel immensely fortunate to have.
It Never Really Dies
To call this novel iconic would be a vast understatement. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t introspectively think of It or see some of its influence in the world whether it’s on social media, other works of fiction, or even in conversation. More importantly, one of the most beautiful things about It is indeed its poignancy. When we long to spend time with The Losers’ Club yet again, this book is always there waiting to be opened. Ben, Richie, Bev, Stan, Mike, Bill, and Eddie live beyond the page thanks to the universal love shared for this book. The Loser’s Club can never really forget each other in this way.
It is a book dedicated to the greatest of fears, yet I can’t help but feel a profound sense of love and connection within reality thanks to this novel. And in the end, I do think this is what good ole Uncle Steve was trying to impart to us. The need for connection, the need for family in whatever form it may come, the need for creativity and imagination.
I’ll end this essay with this: Lean on each other. Love each other. Don’t forget, but ride forward into the sunset. It’s okay to look back, but keep moving forward. There’s a lot of life left to live.
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