Holly Gibney wasn’t meant to be the titular star of a Stephen King novel, but the shy, neurodivergent woman readers first met in 2014′s Mr Mercedes stole its author’s heart.
Despite her personal struggles and OCD tics, Holly has shown her smarts as a private detective in Finders Keepers and The Outsider, though the recent death of her mother (with whom she had a very complicated relationship) has rocked her, and after 17 months of Covid she has started smoking again.
Indeed, at points in the novel King comes across as a doting, if concerned father. “Holly is better than she used to be – more grounded, more emotionally stable, less prone to self blame – but she still suffers from low self-esteem and insecurity.”
Some of her fears are understandable. The novel takes place in a fraught time period: although Trump has just been defeated, the social and political division his presidency sowed is everywhere, as is Covid. That’s something King makes no apology for, arguing that although some may find the Covid through-line here “preachy”, fiction is most believable “when it coexists with real-world events, real-world individuals, even brand names”.
Holly’s mother, a MAGA-supporting vaccine-sceptic, dies from the virus (her funeral takes place over Zoom) and Holly’s partner in the Finders Keepers detective agency is also suffering.
When the mother of a college librarian calls the agency hoping for help to locate her missing daughter, it’s the hint of desperation in her voice – and the fact she sounds just like her mother – that sways Holly to take the case.
The problem for the reader is that we find out who is behind the kidnapping (and many much more grisly crimes) in the opening chapter. We then spend the next 400 or so pages following Holly as she doggedly connects other missing persons with the case and narrows in on the culprits.
And these are some of the most unlikely villains in King’s oeuvre – married octogenarian academics, one suffering from severe sciatica and the other dementia. Their evil deeds are clearly meant to shock – they come from the horror master after all – but here their depravity more often than not comes across as cartoonish.
There are a few colourful detours along the way. Holly’s mother’s estate reveals some family secrets that rock her to the core, especially when King takes us into his protagonist’s troubled back story.
Another character, a young poet who’s seeking a mentor, allows the author plenty of space to express what are likely to be his views on the value of art and literature. “The work matters. Nothing else. Not prizes. Not being published. Not being rich, famous, or both. Only the work.”
There’s the usual spray of pop-culture references, a fascination with the scatological (Holly leans on the word “poopy” a little too much to describe anything she doesn’t like) and a lot of lucky coincidences that help push the investigation forward.
King writes that he got the inspiration for the novel after witnessing Zoom funerals during the pandemic – a potent image – but at the time he lacked a story to hang it on.
That changed when he saw a headline about an honour killing. “Everyone thought they were a sweet old couple until the bodies began turning up in the backyard.”
It’s not the most original hook to hang a novel on, and while King almost pulls it off, Holly Gibney probably deserves better.
