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\n\tAfter the author Richard Bachman was outed as a pseudonym for one of the single most popular English-language writers of the late 20th century, his creator felt the need to address the \u201cwhy\u201d of it all. In an intro for The Bachman Books, which collected four of the novellas penned under that name, Stephen King<\/a> explained that he took on the literary alter ego partially as a blind taste test for readers, and partially as a way of publishing more work without saturating the market. There\u2019s another reason, however, that can be read between the lines of what King describes as \u201cthe Bachman state of mind: low rage and simmering despair.\u201d This was not just a pseudonym. It was also an outlet for some serious Bachman-King Overdrive.<\/p>\n \n\tThe guy behind The Shining was never one to shy away from the darkness, but the secret identity allowed him to tap into something more psychologically unsettling than rabid St. Bernards and demonically possessed Plymouths. He was the Id, a dark half, the kind of writer who could give the horror-lit icon plausible deniability. Fear was now laced with loathing, handwringing concern, and 10ccs of uncut fuck-you anger. Bachman wasn\u2019t King. And nowhere is that more apparent than his story The Running Man.<\/p>\n \n\tNo, not the 1987 movie that twisted the dour, dystopian source material into quip-laden cheese-whiz for Arnold Schwarzenegger<\/a>. We\u2019re talking about Bachman\u2019s tale of a nation ravaged by poverty and disease, controlled by a media in cahoots with the government, and content to amuse itself to death by watching reality-TV competition shows in which contestants win big cash prizes if they can avoid being murdered on live primetime broadcasts. The premise is high concept. The satire is broad. The book itself is a rougher read than you might imagine. It was written in 1982, but set in a future-shock version of 2025, which \u2026 yeah. A little too close for comfort.<\/p>\n