Confession: I’ve been turned off by the brusque or gruesome horror content of some of King’s novels in the past. Just not my thing. Well. There’s not much of that here. Not much of anything here…

It all started relatable, turned a bit predictable, and then began to feel like, wait a minute, I’ve heard this story somewhere before, but I can’t put my finger on it…and while it remained ‘creative’ throughout, it was just not to my liking.

This novel was often preteen-boy-crass without need (why must I read about ‘fat ugly women’ farting? and there, now you’ve had to read it too). The evil characters were caricatures of irredeemable monster-like ogres—hefty manly women to contrast the ‘slender beautiful blonde’ heroine. Eye-roll. It seems lazy to create characters who lack complexity, and as far as I know, King is far from a lazy author. Was he writing for a younger audience here and I missed the memo? I get the feeling a thirteen year old boy would enjoy this more than me…even then, let’s not insult the blossoming generation’s intellect…

It was slightly reminiscent of the Fairyland adventure portion of Cordelia Funke’s trilogy of ‘other’ world adventures with Maggie and friends in the Inkheart series. But in King’s adventure, I wasn’t given enough info and depth to care for this playground of convenient characters; I wasn’t provoked to any attachment to them …apart from Bowditch, the dog, and maybe Charlie’s dad. Sort of. But not much.

It was not beautifully nor poetically written. King is a good storyteller, no doubt, and he knows how to shove emotions into place (if a bit predictable) and certainly has a knack for raising bile, but his writing isn’t arresting in this story in any way and overall, the delivery lacks appeal. It’s rather full of cliches and dated references (though they have a purpose), and so very entrenched in Americanisms that I feel you really have to relate to enjoy it…and I couldn’t.

And then he insulted Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. Was that meant to be ironic? Sadly, I couldn’t tell. I hope it was a stab at irony (though failed) showing the character’s lack of culture and one-dimensional intellect, but I can’t be sure. It should be concerning for any aspiring young female authors, and any who would laud the 19 year old Shelley when she wrote her genius tale (which is far superior to, and will outlast this one for centuries to come).

… this is a story we’ve all heard somewhere else before, and there is nothing new here to thrill or pull us, and as entertainment goes, this is of the American truck-stop dime-store variety. Ew. 

Nothing against the author for his other stellar works, sure, but this one was no name ketchup on an imitation meat burger.