Samantha Ward (Sammi)

I have been a hardcore constant reader since I was 12 and got sucked into the world of Jerusalem’s Lot with a troubled priest. I love Stephen King’s works even when I don’t really enjoy them (rose madder) because they are products of love. The characters are deeply flawed, complex, and no matter how awful and twisted and dark things get, even if the ending isn’t happy, love wins. Stephen King is wonderful not because he writes scares, but because he writes about redemption. This book was not a Stephen King work. His voice isn’t there. His love isn’t there. This book is snide and vitriolic. The beautiful complex multi dimensional characters are all replaced with cardboard cutouts— flat, dull, and lifeless. The villains are cartoonishly evil and cliche. Holly, if written by a woman, would have all the symptoms of a self insert Mary Sue. She’s amazing and virtuous and beautiful and loved by everyone, her flaws are ‘being overly cautious’ and ‘smoking outside and away from people while on a constant internal monologue about what a disgusting habit it is’. There is more love in the crafting of a character we see for two paragraphs in the first chapter musing about street lights than there is for any of the main characters who act as though they must justify their presence every few scenes by loudly protesting against anything that could make them seem impure by todays cultural values. The conversations are clunky and contrived and rarely add anything to the story. They are stage dressings on a tired and overdone middle school play without the charm. It’s far too long without even the bloat of IT where we were learning the history of Derry. The bloat in HOLLY is gas from festering hate tirades presented as world building. Though there are grotesque parts, they feel cheap and rehashed. Something reheated in the microwave for the fourth time and has lost all its texture and identity. I am heartbroken, constant reader. Go watch an episode of black mirror and skip this one.