Demonic, Drunk Or Dauntless Dan Torrance? King’s “Doctor Sleep” Emerges As Worthy Sequel To “The Shining”

“He had come to believe that life was a series of ironic ambushes.”

“He paused. ‘There are other worlds than these.’”

“Life was a wheel, its only job was to turn, and it always came back to where it had started.”

One of Stephen King’s most beloved novels is “The Shining,” so his decision to write, in effect, a sequel to it was met with confusion and doubt in many quarters. King’s latest, “Doctor Sleep” flashes forward some quarter-century to envision creepy-kid Danny Torrance as struggling-blackout-drunk Dan Torrance—and what happens when he’s given something to truly live for and pass on.

The latest vivid, compelling read from King is a fan-fiction dream come true, though the author admitted to having trepidations about writing such a sequel, but draws from “Firestarter” and “Green Mile” themes here to pull it off rather seamlessly.

We are presented with a rather startling introduction to adult Danny, who seems to have developed a rather understandable—if largely unmanageable—drinking problem as a result of an unsettling upbringing filled with REDRUM and imaginary twin girls. The mentor from his years at the Overlook Hotel, Dick Halloran (“The world has a way of keeping things in balance. I believe that. There’s a saying: When the pupil is ready, the teacher will appear. I was your teacher,” he tells Dan), plays a bit role as a sometimes-mentor, but even he can’t veer Dan away from a life spent drifting from fight to bar to liquor store.

“Ask your question, son. I can’t stay. This world is a dream of a dream to me now.”

“It seems to me you grew up fine, son, but you still owe a debt ... Pay it.”

“There came a time when you realized that moving on was pointless. That you took yourself with you wherever you went.”

Continuing his stories with connections to North Carolina, King documented Dan’s ugly misdeeds in Wilmington, highlighted lowlighted by a heartbreaking depiction of an abused toddler. Any fan of King’s is eminently aware of how deeply personal the subject matter here is to the author, who wrote an emotional prologue relating to “finding the bottom” in Alcoholics Anonymous.

“The man who wrote Doctor Sleep is very different from the well-meaning alcoholic who wrote The Shining, but both remain interested in the same thing: telling a kickass story.”

Through some combination of divine providence and fate, Dan finds himself helping elderly nursing-home patients ease into death while re-establishing his own identity in soberness. On a side note, I felt as if skipping Dan’s story ahead three or six years with little insight into his life or recovery was a bit problematic in terms of context for Dan’s turnaround.

“He thought: If I drink, the Overlook wins. Even though it burned to the ground when the boiler exploded, it wins. If I don’t drink, I go crazy.

“He thought: All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.”

“But when the young guy looked up at him, Kingsley saw the eyes were clear of everything but desperation. ... mostly it was the way he held the bottle, hating it and loving it and needing it all at the same time.

“At last Dan brought out the words he had been running from all his life.

“‘I need help.’”

However, when “The True Knot” and psychic-ish young girl Abra enter the story, the pace ramps up quickly and the novel absorbs you. Led by the impossibly beautiful and cruel Rose the Hat, the True is rejuvenated and made immortal via “the steam,” which is the essence of pain, death and agony. These are “the RV people,” and King’s goes to great lengths—and even greater writing—to describe them and their role in the American landscape and fabric.

“America is a living body, the highways are its arteries, and the True Knot slips along them like a silent virus.”

“They eat screams and drink pain.”

The book includes a number of emotional scenes, including one where Abra is overcome with tears that are shed through Dan’s eyes. There are also some very jarring scenarios, drawing extensively on the terror of torture at times. And as usual, this story is yet another King work that lends itself quite easily to cinematic interpretation, including scenes such as seeing “REDRUM” in the mirror in quite creepy fashion.

There is a rather unexpected revelation late in the book (no spoilers here) that dramatically shifts the perspective of the events that take place near the story’s conclusion. Continuing with King’s late-career trend, “Doctor Sleep” ends on a positive note, minus the seemingly inevitable character loss that’s largely anticipated by old-school readers.

King dedicated the book to legendary musician Warren Zevon and threw Jax Teller’s (“Sons of Anarchy”) name in along the way as a cultural reference, and he does a nice job of connecting the world of the Overlook with modern-day New England. Suffice it to say that, boosted by a wink and nod to the ghost of his father Jack, Danny seems to find his role and worth in the universe, lending something beautiful to “Doctor Sleep.”

King certainly bit off plenty in electing to pursue an extension of such a landmark novel, and with a few hiccups here and there, he largely pulls it off. It’s an ambitious work that lacks some of the frantic intensity and horror of some of his earlier pieces, but he does a more-than-admirable job of tackling a monumental task in “Doctor Sleep.”

“Perhaps kids really did come into the world trailing clouds of glory, as Wordsworth had so confidently proclaimed, but they also shit in their pants until they learned better.”

“‘Don’t go.’

“‘I won’t. I’m with you.’ So he was. It was his terrible privilege.”