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I’m a big fan of Stephen King. I have devoted two entire bookshelves to his works—8 feet each! I think! Maybe it’s 6! I don’t know, it’s longer than me! And I am not very long, but if you measure me in books, that would be pretty long. What I’m saying is: it’s a lot of books.

Mine is a tale similar to most: in my preteen years, yearning for something bigger, darker, spookier, I stumbled into The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon. And then Salem’s Lot. And then Christine. And then Cujo. And then IT and then and then and then and then…I even wrote my undergraduate senior thesis on Pet Sematary and The Shining, arguing that he uses gothic devices and should absolutely be considered canon even though many people brush him off as too prolific to be so.

I disagree! Sure, there are books and stories that are deeply flawed, but so what? Don’t read them. He has a way of getting into your psyche, making you afraid of things like your closet, a car, a dog, a clown, a monkey, and don’t get me started on shapeshifters. Anything can be a bloodthirsty shapeshifter! Look to your left—is that a couch or is it A SHAPESHIFTER THAT’S GOING TO EAT YOU WHEN YOU DOZE OFF WATCHING TV??? Look to your right—is that a lamp or is it ME GOING ON TOO MUCH ABOUT SHAPESHIFTERS? Wow, I mean, spooky, right?

So you get the picture: I love Stephen King. I love his novels, his stories, his world building. I love playing the multiverse game. I love when characters come back. I love how he weaves supernatural elements into otherwise normal but still bad situations. I love when an unsuspecting scrappy outsider saves lives, the town, the world. I love the ongoing battle of good versus evil and how it’s morphed with technological innovations.

So that brings me to his latest novel Never Flinch. Man, I love Holly Gibney! I had high hopes for this one because he’s been steadily building this character for nearly a decade now. Before our very eyes, Holly has grown into a confident (yet still neurotic and kinda dorky) force to be reckoned with. His novel, Holly, two years ago was fantastic. Holly, a spunky private detective, got herself into a heap of trouble with some elderly cannibals and boy did she get out of there! When I learned that Never Flinch was another edition in the Holly Gibney series, I was excited!

And 423 words later, you’re like okay, where’s the but? Give me a chance, gosh! Never Flinch is an exciting story full of intertwining narratives with not one but two (!) murderers on the loose, a police versus firefighters charity baseball game, the resurgence of a previously retired singer, wrongful deaths, wrongful convictions, anti-abortion lunatics, feminist speakers and the crowds they draw, and the prevailing question of who does the justice system really serve? And for the most part it works. King is the master of intertwining narratives—look at The Stand, It, 11/22/63, Desperation to name a few—and with Never Flinch, he proves he is still the master of his craft.

I suppose, after the excitement of Holly, I wanted more, though. And now your’e like oh my gosh, Marie, what more could he have given you? You just said all that stuff is in one book! Yeah, you’re right! I did say that! And to be honest, I’m not really sure what more he could’ve given me. I just felt like it needed SOMETHING else, but maybe it’s just because this was more of a crime book than a crime book plus something freaky and weird. It’s true that most times—pretty much all the time if I’m being realistic—the scariest people are the ones that think they have something to prove and will absolutely resort to violence and murder to prove it. That’s the world we’re living in these days, just look around, read the news, doomscroll for five minutes, and you’ll be inundated by people who think they’re RIGHT and everyone else is WRONG committing heinous acts of violence.

As I’m writing this, I think that my issue is less about the story and more about my need to escape this kind of story. There’s so much terrifying stuff going on in the world around me that I was looking forward to diving into this book, not for comfort, but to be afraid of something inexplicable, beyond our scope of understanding—like a sudden mist that eats people alive, or a sudden flu that…no never mind, not that one anymore, or a killer car or a vampire or a shapeshifting alien or something. You know, something completely made up to be afraid of instead of all the real stuff to be afraid of.