I originally posted this open letter to Stephen King on my Facebook page, but it generated such a lively and sometimes heated discussion that I’ve decided to share it here. Let me preface what you’re about to read by saying I’ve been a big fan of Stephen King going all the way back to Carrie. Granted, I was only 8 years old when that first book was published, but I started in on King at the age of 13 or so and happily devoured everything he had to offer well into my 20’s. Whenever I wanted a good, old-fashioned scare from the type of book I didn’t dare read alone at night, King was my go-to source.
In 1999 King was hit by a car and needed an extended period of convalescence. He even spoke publicly about the possibility of retiring. It didn’t last, he came back in 2006 with Cell, and he’s continued to release new novels, essays and other works since. And I haven’t liked a single one of the novels he’s written since his return. Book after book, year after year, he continues to disappoint me and make me regret having given him the benefit of the doubt (and my time and money) yet again.
With that said, here’s my open letter.
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Dear Stephen King:
It was a lovely reader-author relationship while it lasted, but it’s been over for at least a decade and it’s time for me to move on. I think it’s really wonderful that you’ve found faith and feel that it, and sobriety, have turned your life around. I just don’t enjoy the fact that those two things have become the central themes of virtually every piece of fiction you’ve written since you discovered them.
I came to you looking for truly frightening, taut, dark and edgy supernatural horror that explored the limits of human strength and character in the face of pure, inexplicable evil. But you haven’t been writing that kind of material for a very, very long time and what you have been writing has been so self-indulgent, maudlin and overwrought that’s it’s difficult for me to believe you even have an editor anymore.
I held out hope that with Dr. Sleep, your long-awaited sequel to The Shining, you would return to form at last. I was wrong. It’s less a supernatural horror thriller than an overlong, overwritten examination of sad-sack, grown-up, recovering alcoholic Danny filling in as your usual Christ figure as he takes on your recently-typical cadre of banal baddies.