Review: It By Stephen King

Is there such a thing as “so good it’s bad”?

We’re all familiar with the inverse, usually in the form of a movie which is so clumsy and inept that it becomes entertaining, in a “laughing at you, not with you” kind of way. What would the opposite—“so good it’s bad”—mean? I believe that I had this experience when I read the legendary It by Stephen King.

There is no doubt that I enjoyed reading this book. I formed a real connection with the characters. My favourite scenes are when the kids are just being kids, joking with each other, building a dam, or running from bullies. I felt like I grew up with them, and when they are reunited in adulthood, I was fascinated with how they ended up and what they’ve done with their lives, just like I would be if I was reuniting with real people from my real childhood. How did King make me bond with the characters? He did it like any great writer: by giving the characters detailed characteristics and personalities, so that they feel like real people.

This attention to detail extends beyond characters, and into the setting as well. The town of Derry is treated to a series of “interludes” that separate the main sections of the book. The interludes serve as a history lesson of the town, and also as a way to build the myth of the monster called It. They have the feel of an origin story in a comic book, where the monster and the town itself became linked as a character of its own. By presenting the interludes as the personal journal of Mike, a black man, King even manages to tell an inspirational Civil Rights tale about a military nightclub called The Black Spot.

The level of detail is staggering, and it is a strength of the novel. But as I kept turning the pages, I came to see it as a weakness too. To put it bluntly, there is simply too much of a good thing. For example, I wrote down a note to myself at around page 300: “Eddie and the lobsters.” After finishing the book, I flipped back to that section to find 4 pages of backstory about Eddie meeting a hobo on the tracks, and obtaining a box of lobsters, and then eating (or not eating) the lobsters, and then being chased by a hobo or something. I had no recollection of this part of the book, because really, it had no bearing on the main plot. After some more flipping, I saw that the lobster/hobo episode is embedded in the middle the story of Eddie’s encounter with the It monster, which is itself bookended by the story of Bill telling Eddie and the others about his encounter with the It monster.

This form of recursion, flashbacks within flashbacks, backstories within backstories, is a technique that gets used over and over in the novel. King seems to want to leave no gaps; every memory triggers another, as if the characters need a reason for every feeling and recollection that they have. I admire the skill that it must have required for King to pull this off, but the result is that the book became structurally predictable. I felt like I always knew what I was going to get, especially in the second act: this chapter is where Ben sees the monster, and we’ll get some backstory about his life; then, the next chapter is now where Stan sees the monster, and we get some backstory about his life. Don’t get me wrong, all of the pieces and stories themselves are compelling and enjoyable to read, but in the end, it felt like an album filled with good songs, but they all have the same time signature and chord progressions.

One of the plot devices of the book is the fact that the characters in their adulthood have forgotten what happened to them when they were kids, because of the psychic powers of the town and the monster. Given the mystical amnesia, I would have accepted some fuzziness in their memories.

You have a great imagination, Mr. King, but please leave some things to ours.