Bill Denbrough Ben Hanscom Richie Tozier Beverly Marsh Mike Hanlon Eddie Kaspbrack Stan Uris [move along home] |
Okay. Stan is the one who kills himself at the beginning of the book. He's also the Jewish one, the neat one, the one who seemed 'like the world's smallest adult' in 1958. Let's take all this and run.
His obsessive cleanliness is the major factor here. His Jewishness, while not simply incidental, is secondary to his overwhelming neatness. Bill tells everyone after they learn about Stan's suicide that "He said he could stand being scared, but he couldn't stand being dirty." This is Stan's entire basis for character. Consider:
He's the one who suggests they clean Bev's bathroom after the blood gouting. A minor point, but no one else mentions it until he does. He tells Bev, Eddie, and Ben his story in the laundromat. And the story itself, the one about him seeing the dead boys, really gives us insight into Stan's character. He's scared by the dead boys, but more *offended* by them. That's why they appeared in the first place (in that manifestation of It). Not the fact that the dead coming back are scary, but that they are *wrong*. They offend everything Stan believes in.
That stronger belief in the pragmatic is what dooms him. His bird book and his calling of the birds is the only magic he really allows himself to believe in. In a clean, rational world, It does not -- cannot -- exist. Even when they face the bird in the tunnels in 1958 and Stan defeats it, he tells the others, "A bird like that never existed, that's all." In that instance, his firm belief in reality saves them. That wouldn't always be so. Maybe it's that reality that allows him to glimpse at what It really is. All of the others see a spider, and later Bill and Richie see the lights, but Stan saw the deadlights, what lies behind ALL of It's masks. His mind is constructed to see the real, which is why It's glamours worked less on him. They were fake.
He goes into accounting. Numbers are real, rational things that don't change. But still, he vaguely remembers It, more than any of the others that have left Derry. His wife remembers he actually said "The Turtle couldn't help us." And he buys Bill Denbrough's books and reads them, remembering his friend, if only a little. Bev says in her first big scene that one of Bill's books "laid around here for weeks and I didn't make the connection."
Stan still remembers a bit, because the magic of forgetting works less on him. Because he believed in it less.
During the "Love and Desire" sequence with Bev, Stan isn't able to (oh, how do I put this tactfully) finish the job. He's the only one of the six boys who is unable to do it, maybe unable to "dirty" himself in that way. This is another foreshadowed doom chip.
And the final, clean, nail in the coffin. He kills himself in the bathtub, the final act of trying to wash the memory and dirtiness of It off.
As with all the Losers, Stan's adulthood reflects decisions he made as a child. To accept only the sane and rational (with breif forays into belief in magic) sets up a series of dominoes which will eventually lead to his suicide.
And it's sad. We come to really like Stan, and see his point of view. And we sympathize with him. All the others don't question their beliefs in the supernatural (Richie uses the Bible to justify his beliefs; Stan is Jewish, and thus doesn't know the Bible). Stan, being too adult in a time of children, couldn't do it. Perhaps he knew that he wouldn't be able to become a kid again, because he never was one fully in the first place.
Bill Denbrough
Bill is the most rounded out character in the book, quite possibly because he
seems to be the most autobigraphical of King's Losers. King didn't have a
younger brother, but he was one, and you can sense in It (as well as the
wonderful story "The End of the Whole Mess" King's feelings for his brother
and for the concept of brotherhood.
Bill losing his brother makes the battle against It a more personal crusade
for him than any of the others. It is also what binds him to the
group
(you'll notice none of the others have siblings) and perhaps transforms him
into Big Bill, the leader. With his parents ignoring him and each other, he
feels a growing sense of responsibility 1) To avenge his brother's death and
2) To win back his parents' love.
His is forced into partial adulthood at an early age -- he recognises this as
do the other Losers. Bev sees it as AUTHORITY -- Bill's "good" adultness to
balance her father's "bad". Bill, once recognising and beginning to
understand his role in the Loser's Club thinks: "If this is what grownups
have to think about, I don't want to grow up."
He does, though, and while he experienced growing up too early (I don't think
his first book eing published at an early age was just meant to coincide with
King's publishing of Carrie), he is the most prepared to grow young again
(anyone catch the Bruce reference?). While the others (with the exception,
maybe, of Richie) have gone into mostly "adult" jobs, Bill has made his
living doing what kids do -- making things up. As he was always good at
thinking up games when they were kids, he's
become good at making up tales as an adult.
But, underneath all his horror stories lies the hidden memory of Georgie, and
it is with this relationship that the entire novel hinges. Bill blames
himself for the loss of Georgie, less so after his talk with Richie, but
still doing it. But he recognises he cannot bring Georgie back. Audra, his
wife, is also taken by It, but she is something he thinks he can save. And
by relying on that wonderous creature from 1958, Silver, he is able to
harness the magic left in the town and do right in 1985 what he couldn't do
in 1958: save someone he loves.
The novel ends with this scene, a fabulously written and beautifully imagined
sequence. It ends with Bill, using the last of his childhood to save his
adulthood. And with his almost remembering the childhood friends he loved so
much.
Mike Hanlon
Mike Hanlon is the black Loser. He appeared in a Stephen King book when many people were bashing King for either (1) being a racist or (2) not giving credible roles to his black characters. It is true that King had previously given some sterotypical roles to blacks: Mother Abagail was the embodiment of a modern-day Moses and Dick Halloran was also in the "savior" role. But while his white characters were getting trapped in cars by big dogs and losing their cats to big Orinco trucks or falling in love with their cars (in general, leaving ordinary lives eclipsed by the extraordinary), his
black people were either being gods or devils. Witness Killian in The Running Man, the embodiment of all evil in the future. Or Abraham in The Long Walk -- not a god or devil but very much a stereotypical jive-talkin' black dude.
Mike Hanlon changed all that. Sure, he was a "Loser," but he was in the company of six other white kids who were also "Losers." Mike was a regular, ordinary guy whose blackness didn't much interfere with that fact. It was the reason for his status in the Losers club, but the fact of his being black is not the end-all, be-all of his existance.
Like Ben, who is a Loser because of his weight, but whose defining trait is his love of architecture, or Bill, ewho stutters but is mainly a writer, Mike is governed by a love of history. We learn, after the initial chapters, that Mike is the historian of Derry (albeit, the underground historian -- pun definately intended). He relays the incidents of Derry's past in the "interlude" segments -- The fire at the Black Spot, the Bradley Gang shoot-out, and the mass-murder at the Silver Dollar. During the Losers' reunion, he fills them in on the past cycles, relaying information about the Kitchner Ironworks and even telling (at some point) about the original Derry settlers' disappearance.
Like Ben (again) building the dam in the Barrens and the clubhouse, it is only appropriate that Mike (along with Richie) sees the vision of It coming. It is Ago, it is the defining moment of Derry's history. Mike, for the first time, is witnessing the history that he's so much fascinated with.
And Mike, unlike the other Losers, learned his lot in life from his father. The others, to one degree or another, have failed or failing parents. Mike's relationship with his folks is the only really healthy child-parent relationship in the book, and Mike's dad passed on his love of Derry history ("I think," Mike says, "It's because he wasn't born here.") to his son. Mike is the one who brought the scrapbook into the Barrens, giving them all a breif history of Derry, and, in turn, of It.
Then, is is only right that Mike be the one to remain in Derry. Not because King is racist and wants his black Loser to keep losing, but because of his history there. In order to continue examining Derry's history (and, in turn, being a part of it), Mike had to stay behind. The others looked forward to creating the future (Ben built, Bev designed, Bill wrote, Richie created on-air personalities, Stan helped others make money, and Eddie moved people from place to place); Mike was only interested in the Ago. This is perhaps the reason why he's still in Derry in Insomnia -- the other Losers looked to the future, Mike looked to the past. Derry is his home, and, like it or not, they are a part of each other.
Also, something interesting: Mike's first vision of It is different from the others in one way: it also has a history. Ostensibly, Mike was freaked out by Rodan on tv, and that was why he saw It as a giant bird. But, we learn, that Mike's Dad saw the bird at the Black Spot, and Mike himself was terrorized by a bird as a baby. The others saw their versions of It because of recent events (such as movies), but, as always, Mike's perceptions were shaped by history.
As to why King felt it necessary to put Mike in the hospital for the final confrontation, here's some speculation. Because Mike did stay in Derry, maybe he was too much a part of It himself to help his friends (he says once at the reunion that he loves this town.) Or maybe, following the lines of the past, that Henry Bowers hated Mike more than any of the other Losers, and it was "just" for Henry to get Mike years after missing him to the Apocalyptic Rockfight. Or, as King states, five is a more magical number than six. Any one of these makes some sense, but, personally, I was always a little irked by that. Like the ending of Rose Madder: I understand it, but that don't mean I like it.
Eddie Kaspbrack
Next to Bev, Eddie is the character most in danger of becoming a stereotype.
He is the epitome of the hypochondriac, overly exaggerated by the immense
amount of stuff in his medicine cabinet. Like Bev, he married a mirror of
his parent, a woman who would take care of him and worry about him because,
psychologically, he needs to be taken care of.
Even in his idolization of Bill Denbrough, he fits this role. When the kids
are going down to face Henry and his gang, Bill says, "You walk with me,
Eddie. I'll keep an eye on you." (Stuttering excluded.)
But with Bill and his other friends, it's different. He depends on them, but
they also depend on him. Unlike his relationship with his Ma (and later,
Myra), there's a mutual reciprocation. And in this, Eddie finds he can be
strong.
Eddie wants to run and play sports. This is evidenced most apparently when
the spot he chooses to return to in 1985 is the Tracker Brothers baseball
diamond. But his mother insists that he not play roughly or climb trees, for
fear that he might
be hurt.
It's ironic, then, that, although Henry tried to get all of the Losers at
one point or another, Eddie is the one to be hurt most seriously. It's
ironic, but it also fits. He finds he can live inside the pain. The pain
doesn't kill him. Perhaps, if his mother hadn't made him change his mind, he
would've handled this realization and continued to build on it, eventually
being able to live without being sick like Ben was able to live without being
fat. But the episode in the hospital changed that.
Eddie had made up his mind to believe Mr. Keene, that asthma medicine was
really mind-medicine. His Ma doesn't want him to believe it, because then
she will loose (in her mind), the protective shroud she has over him. If
Eddie becomes less dependeant on her, then he won't need her anymore. Then,
she makes the mistake of sending the Losers away from the hospital. Eddie
becomes strong at this point. He needs his friends and they need him. So he
makes a deal with his mom: he'll go on believing he's sick if she doesn't
interfere with his friendship. She finds she must relent.
The decision to live with his mother's sickness dooms him. His asthma
medicine can be magic when he's a child, because, in essance, that's what it
does. As he grows older, he still believes in it, but it isn't magic
anymore, it's science. He is unable to become a child, in at least that
sense. And It kills him, taking the twice-broken arm as It had taken
George's arm 27 years before.
Eddie sacrifices himself as he would have done as a child. We are
continually reminded that Eddie would give his life for Bill Denbrough, if
asked. Eventually, he did. All Eddie's decisions in childhood (like all the
Losers) come back in 1985 to haunt him. So it is that the first time his
asthma medicine doesn't work for him will also be the last.
Eddie Kaspbrack is a tragic figure, a sickly boy and man who only feels truly
well when he's with his friends. The death of Eddie is probably the saddest
of all deaths in King's body of work (maybe that of Nick Andros is the only
equal), but we know it is necessary. In the end, he gives himself so that
others may live, one final act of healing.
Richie Tozier
I'll make no bones about it. Richie is the hardest one for me to analyze.
On the surface, he seems superficial, easy to categorize. But a few key
factors show a depth and complexity to Richie that I'm not sure I understand
fully. Here's a shot:
Like Bev, Bill, Stan, and maybe Ben, Richie has a double-Loser quality. Bev
is poor, but her "Loser" status is determined by her being abused. Bill
stutters, but he has also lost a brother and is treated almost dead himself
by his parents. Stan is Jewish, but he's a neat-freak. Ben is fat, but he
is also crushingly lonely without realizing it.
Richie is known throughout the book as Trashmouth Tozier. At first glance,
this could be construed as to what makes him a Loser. He is powerless to
stop his mouth, because to joke about things is easier than running in fear
of them especially at such a scary time as childhood.) But Richie's real
"Loser" quality is his glasses. Time and time again, his glasses become the
focus for ridicule and embarassment. When a larger kid pushes Richie and his
glasses break, his mother screams at
him, even though it wasn't his fault. There are often references made to the
fact that his glasses are always held together by adhesive tape. And the
cyclical smoke that resurfaces under his contacts, forcing him to wear
glasses again (and, symbolically, become as he was in 1958) is important.
For instance, I don't think it's coincidence that Richie is the big "seer" of
the group. He, along with Mike, saw the coming of It. It is important to
Mike's character because of the history; for Richie it is the seeing. Also,
the shape at the house on Neibolt Street becomes the Werewolf because Richie
saw it first. And let's not forget the apparition created through his
biggest childhood fear, the Crawling Eye.
His glasses and his eyes were the cumulative symbols of what was wrong in his
childhood, thus becoming his greatest fear. By punching at the Eye, he
defeated this fear (which goes a long way to understanding why he got
contacts in the first place.)
Then what was the whole Paul Bunyon thing about?
Here's my theory: Richie entire childhood life (and, to a lesser extent, his
adult life) was based on illusion. His Voices and jokes were a way to mask
the real Richie. He created a persona for himself first out of necessity and
later used it professionally. During the firstencounter at Neibolt Street,
Richie realizes that Bill's Dad's gun hurt the Werewolf, but his sneezing
powder hurt it more. The powder was
a joke, an illusion, but an illusion Richie believed in.
That's why, when the reality of the Paul Bunyon statue suddenly became
magical,
it was easier to believe that a dream casued it. Richie's mind works on a
reality/fantasy basis. It's either one of the other. He goes into a long
internal dialogue stating that he can believe in Mike Hanlon's monsters, but
he cannot believe in Paul Bunyon turning into the giant from Jack & the
Beanstalk. The statue is real, the monsters are fantasy. When the essential
reality of the statue is comprimised by the essential un-naturalness of It,
Richie's mind cannot work around that.
Thus, it becomes an illusion perpetuated by Richie's own mind, seeing as he's
the one with such a knack for them.
It's also important to note that Richie is "the person who knew bill better
than anyone until Audra Phillips." He was Bill's best friend, the only one
approaching Bill's "Big Bill" status. This is the reason why he, an only he,
could have rescued Bill from the deadlights. (On that note, I'll tell you
that it infuriates me that the tv film didn't
regognize this, and put Ben in there as well.)
On final insection, Richie Tozier is a great character and as real as the
others. He's just a little harder to figure out.
Beverly Marsh
Bev, like Eddie, grew up and married a mirror of her parent. Eddie, at
least, partially recognised the similarities between mother and wife (holding
the pictures up side by side is the most direct indication.) But Bev seems
not to know, at least until she recieves Mike's phone call, that her choices
in the type of relationships she's had with men have all been abusive. Tom
Rogan was only the most recent and most
brutal.
Perhaps the forgetting has something to do with that. During that summer of
1958, Bev made a paralell between her abusive father and Bill Denbrough, for
whom she had a "crush" too deep to be just a crush. She recognized that she
loved both of them, they both had power over her, they both were "authority".
But Bill, she came to understand was "Authority that listened." Later, when
she hid from Henry and his gang in the clubhouse with Ben, she came to
discover a different sort of love and understanding: a mutual bond in which
two people could help each other and take comfort in each other. Later that
day, she discovered desire.
But when she left Derry, she forgot all that, only remembering the abusive
and underlyingly incestuous relationship with ther Dad. Tom fits into his
role neatly, demeaning her, abusing her, and calling her "little girl."
Maybe the reason she, in some way, craves this type of relationship has to do
with what made her a Loser in the first place. Like Stan's Losership wasn't
defined by his Jewishness but by his cleanliness, Bev was a Loser because she
was poor, not abused. The fact that she knew she was poor and felt inferior
to girls like Sally Mueller put her in a position to feel humility. She got
used to feeling ashamed, and took it as a course of life. After forgetting
Derry (and even after becoming rich, which, incidentally, she gives Tom
credit for) she is still in that mind-set that she will never be ghood
enough.
But during the summer of 1958, she is good enough. She is, with the
exception of Bill himself, the most important member of the Losers in many
ways. She is the only female of the group, which seems slight until one
considers that It is also female. The power of Beverly counteracts the power
of It: the forces of Good and Evil present in the novel's two main female
characters.
Michael Collings states, in his wonderful original review of IT, that the
opening sequence of the sacrifice of Adrian Mellon and the much later scene
detailing the ritual sexual intercourse with Beverly is important because, by
its nature, heterosexuality opposes homosexuality
Here's another correlary: Beverly's love making to the boys, the ritual act
of it, apposes It's unisexuality. It is pregnant with some unthinkable alien
spawn, through no means but It's own. Therefore, the very human relationship
with Beverly binds them together, joined in an act that It cannot duplicate.
The closeness is the Loser's power over It: the power of faith, the power of
belief, and the power of love and
desire.
(BTW, this also goes a long way to explaining another opposite: It is
pregnant while the Losers are childless.)
It's really a shame that Bev had to handle the intervening years, suffering
through one after another abusive relationship. But it's good to see, at
opposite ends of the book, Tom's rough and tumble sex with Bev being replaced
by the gentleness of lovemaking with Bill (and later, the companionship with
Ben.) It's also kind of poetic justice that Tom (like Norman, later, in Rose
Madder) is killed by a female.
In the end, Bev stood with her friends and was strong. She chose to believe
in love and desire, the things she believed in when she was young, and that
was what got her out of the tunnels. Eddie and Stan weren't so lucky, but
maybe that's why it's Bev that sees their reflections in the window. Because
she was able to finally let go of her past and believe.
Ben is the most well-rounded character in It (no pun intended.) His
being fat earns his place in the Loser's Club, but like all of the
Losers, there are underlying facets that define him far more than his
weight.
At the beginning of his "young" stage in 1958, Ben is a shy, bookish boy
with no friends. He has an attatchment to his mother and other adults,
who adore him because he is a "good boy." His only relationships come
with adults: he goes so far as to volunteer to help Miss Douglas
catalogue books when the other children go home. He also has a crush on
a girl in his class named Beverly Marsh -- he looks past the rich girls
in the glass and centers on the poor girl with the bruise on her face.
Perhaps on a deep, unknown level he sees a certain desperation for
companionship in her, as well. In a bold move that seems to be the
first step he takes to achieving friends on his own, he writes Beverly a
poem:
and mails it to her. This act of reaching out for companionship is one
of the first steps taken to infuse the Loser's club as a whole.
That day, while being cut by Henry Bowers (the fact that Henry decides
to carve on Ben's stomach rather than his arms or face is significant),
Ben breaks out of his character even further -- fighting back, kicking
Bowers in the crotch, and tumbling down the hill into the Barrens where,
later, he meets Bill and Eddie.
Ben stays with Eddie while Bill goes to get Eddie's asthma medicine, and
the fact that he doesn't run off is another strengthening bond. By his
nature, he is afraid and alone. But escaping from the Mummy earlier
that year and escaping from Bowers that day toughened him. As Beverly
later observes: "Ben may have been nothing but a frightened fat kid at
the beginning of the summer, but he was stronger now; they all were."
Bill also thinks of Ben as tougher than Richie and less likely to break
down suddenly than Stan.
Then there is his talent for building things. The first group effort,
the building of the dam in the Barrens, even shuts Richie up for awhile.
His production of the Smoke-Hole allows Mike and Richie the vision of
It's arrival to earth, and his forming the silver slugs later helps save
his own life. These three incidents, the dam, the Smoke-Hole ceremony,
and the battle at Neibolt Street, are three of the most significant
sequences in the book, all made possible by Ben Hanscom. It is apparent
that he is one of the most important members of the Loser's Club; his
knack for creation could only flourish through his acceptance into
freindship.
He is also the most sensitive and, in many ways, the most thoughtful of
the club. He recognizes Bill's leadership in the group, accepts it, and
knows that Bev is in love with him. He allows that in his mind, and in
his heart, knowing that he could have Bev as a friend and love her
silently. Everyone else seems to recognize the love Ben feels for
Beverly except Bev herself, until the day of the final confrontation.
The exchange between Bev and Ben in the Smoke-Hole after her escape from
her father and Bowers & co. is perhaps the most sensitive and sweet
conversations in all of King's work. People that say he just writes
horror and cares only about blood and guts should get a load of this:
"Thank you for the poem, Ben."
This conversation allows Bev and Ben to form a deeper bond with each
other, allowing more tenderness in the later love scenes than any of the
Losers can give her. Bill makes her skyrocket, both in the tunnels and
later at the Derry Town House, but Ben fills her with love and desire,
and that is the reason why she goes home with Ben at the end.
On a final note, perhaps Ben comes the closest to discovering the true
nature of the Loser's Club and the forces that guide them. During a
quiet moment, he wonders about power, where it comes from and where it
goes. The power of the slugs, the power the Losers have to defeat It
and Bowers time after time. Did the power simply come from them, or was
a higher force at work? It is in this unarticulated musing Ben has with
himself that defines the entire novel.
He realizes that power comes from everywhere, but the greatest of these
sources is the influence of love. He recognizes that Bill has power
over Bev because she loves him, and that she has power over him because
he loves her. Collectively (and, yes, it is Ben who mentions this 27
years later, at the library) the Loser's Club all love each other, a
binding love that overcomes amnesia and death. And somewhere, some
Other is looking down on them with love, as well.
In closing, Ben Hanscom comes to maybe the most complete closure. At
the beginning of the novel, both as an adult at the bar and as a kid on
the last day of school, he is a lonely boy with no friends, and he is in
love with Bev Marsh/Rogan. In 1958, he stands up for Beverly, feeling
an overpowering need to protect her (my guess is if It hadn't gotten
Tom, Ben would have probably done a job on him.) And after he finally
confesses his love to her, and goes the further step of making love with
her, he loses her. After twenty-seven years (and around two hundred
pounds), he catches her again, and this time holds on.
Not bad for a lonely fat kid who's handy with Lincoln Logs, huh?
Ben Hanscom
January embers
my heart burns there, too
"Poem?"
"The haiku. The haiku on the postcard. You sent it, didn't you?"
"No. I didn't send you any haiku. Cause if a kid like me -- a fat kid like me -- did something like that, the girl would probably laugh at him."
"I didn't laugh. I thought it was beautiful."
"I could never write anything beautiful. Bill, maybe. Not me."
"Bill will [...] never write anything as nice as that."
[abridging, here]
He was even able to look at her as he said it.
"I wrote the poem."