For Love of a Thesis

Well, it's time, once again, for me to pick up my thesis and work on a new section. The last section was about Steven King's short story "The Mist," and this new section will be about his short story "The Breathing Method." Now, I chose King as my subject because I dearly love his short fiction and feel that it has received a raw deal from the academic establishment. I also chose him because I felt that if any author could hold my attention long enough to write a 40 to 70 page critical paper, it would be King. I'm starting to wonder at the wisdom of my choice now, though.

The problem I'm having is that as I analyze King's work, I find that said analyzation is sucking the joy out of reading the stories (which is pretty much the only reason to read any story, in my opinion.) I find that by ripping everything apart I find new layers to marvel at, but that in ripping them apart, I feel a bit like Houdini unmasking fraudulant psychics. I feel smug in my ability to identify and explain the how and why of what makes the stories tick, but I lose a bit of that magical feeling of letting a story guide me through its little world.

I tell everyone that it's a good thing that I chose an author I love, or I would not be able to endure the constant re-reading and picking-apart of the literature, but I'm beginning to wonder. If I had chosen an author I liked a bit less, I think it would also hurt less to grow tired of that author. Oh Steven, whatever shall I do? I fear that I may be losing you, and it's something my heart may not be able to bear. (Sighs audibly.)