After 33 years of channeling his paranoia into nearly 50 books, a score of them best sellers, Stephen King is now taking his bows as one of America's greatest writers.

The obvious question is: Has King gotten that much better as a writer or have our literary standards fallen that far?

Hailed in reviews last week for his latest novel, "Lisey's Story," complete with comparisons to James Joyce, King extended his three-year ascension that began in 2003 with the National Book Award for distinguished contribution to American letters, recognition from Poets and Writers magazine for his efforts to aid other writers and now an interview in the fall issue of Paris Review, the august literary magazine.

In the article, King confronts the frequent criticism that his work is not to be taken seriously as literature with the same argument he made in accepting his National Book Award:

It's a bunch of snobs who decide what "serious fiction" is, and they don't want to let "the rabble" like me in, he claims.

"The keepers of the idea of serious literature have a short list of authors who are going to be let inside, and too often that list is drawn from people who know people, who go to certain schools, who come up through certain channels of literature. And that's a very bad idea -- it's constraining for the growth of literature."

As King told the Paris Review, the problem is caused by the "people who analyze literature for a living, who say, if we let the rabble in, then they'll see that anybody can do this, that it's accessible to anyone. Then what are we doing here?"

King, a conventional thinker whose writing about his own work is sprinkled with cliches, makes the long-standing point that professional authors have harped on since Americans started buying books:

It's a class thing, us vs. them, the commoners against the intellectual snobs.

Nathaniel Hawthorne, despite the reception of "The Scarlet Letter," left America to find inspiration in Europe because he felt there wasn't enough "material" for him in his native country.

He was wrong, as Mark Twain proved. Twain's novels started the flowering of an American literature that was democratic, read by all. His closest friend and fellow novelist was William Dean Howells, born in Martins Ferry, Ohio, also the home of poet James Wright (and baseball's Niekro brothers -- what a town!).

Howells was once one of the country's most popular writers, whose books took on the social conventions of the times. His contemporaries, Henry James and Edith Wharton, sold far fewer books, yet nobody reads Howells today while James and Wharton are required for students of American literature.

That fact confirms King's argument but also speaks to the nature of James and Wharton that goes beyond their reputation among academics. Their work endures because of its universal quality -- their language crosses the years while Howells' books remain stuck in the 19th century.

Will that be the case for King, whose books are grounded in the culture of his time, including his overworked practice of using brand names? That's another issue.

The jury's still out on the issue of Stephen King's greatness as a novelist. He's still writing after all.

But, his popularity is permanent, his love of all literature, as revealed in the Paris Review interview, is admirable and his modesty is refreshing.

His opinion of best-seller lists is a case in point:

"The bottom line is always sales and these guys [Tom Clancy and Danielle Steel] outsell me, Grisham outsells me four to one. It's not a big deal to me anymore. ... Do I really want to bust my ass to be on [The New York Times best-seller list] along with Danielle Steel and David Baldacci and the born-again books?"

He'll be there regardless with his new one and the ones that follow. Right now, that is his greatness and why he is recognized for it.

Thanks to reader Bill Ross of Scott, we learned that "The Writer's Almanac" can be heard on West Virginia Public Radio stations, including its Wheeling outlet, after the noon news. None of Pittsburgh's three public radio stations carry the show.

Local poet and Autumn House Press publisher Michael Sims' poem, "The Marriage Bed," will be read on the program tomorrow. You can also hear it via your computer on its Web site.