“By the time Rob arrived in the [City Center] parking lot, the panic was abating. Some people were leaving at a walk; others were trying to help those who had been struck by the gray car; a few, the assholes present in every crowd, were snapping photos or making movies with their phones. Hoping to go viral on YouTube, Rob assumed. Chrome posts with yellow DO NOT CROSS tape trailing from them lay on the pavement…The police car that had passed them was parked close to the building, near a sleeping bag with a slim white hand protruding. A man lay sprawled crossways on top of the bag, which was in the center of a spreading bloodpuddle. The cop motioned the ambo forward, his beckoning arm seeming to stutter in the swinging glare of the lightbar atop his cruiser…”
- Stephen King, End of Watch
End of Watch, the concluding volume of Stephen King’s so-called Bill Hodges Trilogy, begins at the same place as volumes one and two: the City Center parking lot. There, a psychotic young man in a gray Mercedes has intentionally plowed his vehicle into a crowd of job seekers waiting in line. The massacre, portrayed from different perspectives in Mr. Mercedes and Finders Keepers, provides the bloody lodestar for these three books, the reverberations from the act always in the background, never quite dissipating.
King’s decision to keep returning to the scene of this crime is surprisingly effective. In Mr. Mercedes, the opening vehicular homicides seemed an especially-horrific way to jumpstart an otherwise formulaic game of cat-and-mouse between a deranged killer and a retired detective. By revisiting City Center from different angles, though, he turns the murderous event (which has been mimicked by real-life events subsequent to the first book) from a plot-instigator into something deeper, a psychic wound felt by all of King’s characters.
Opening End of Watch with one last City Center scene was a good idea.
It is, unfortunately, the last good idea King had in writing this book. As soon as the opening scene is over, the novel falls off a cliff. This is a breaking news, footage at eleven, trail derailment.
(Before I go any further, I should mention that there are minor spoilers ahead, both for this book and the two that preceded it).
I knew I was in for a rough ride almost immediately, as we are reintroduced to Ex-Detective Bill Hodges as soon as the prologue is over. This is a matter of perspective, of course, but I find (and have found) Hodges to be a tiresome character. A saggy, uninteresting, uninspired focal point, a collection of clichés, bad choices, and periodic bursts of prophetic genius. His whole shtick is that he’s old school. You know he’s old school because King has informed us of this fact in myriad ways, in every book.
The characters around him are not much better. Holly Gibney is back again as Hodges’ assistant. She has a mild mental illness and a fondness for old movies, all the better so that she can indulge in one of King’s more irritating tics: spewing a gush of tired pop cultural references. Jerome, the third member of this traveling circus is mostly redundant (his skills are the exact same as Holly’s, which leads me to wonder how much King actually planned this out in advance). The rest of the cast, is utterly forgettable. I’m forgetting them as I type.
The villain of the piece is an old friend from Mr. Mercedes. His return is no surprise, as King brought up the possibility at the end of Mr. Mercedes, and spelled it out in big block letters throughout Finders Keepers. Essentially, we have a Michael Meyers situation on our hands (after a fashion), except that Kiner Memorial Hospital manages to make Smith’s Grove Sanitarium appear a tip-top facility.
(Picking out the plot holes in this series is as difficult as counting ants swarming over a fallen scoop of ice cream. For me, one of the huge ones is the notion that an accused murderer and suspected terrorist, under indictment for a bevy of crimes, would be housed in the city’s top hospital, rather than a secure regional center; that not only would he be housed in the city’s top hospital, but that he would not be under guard; and that not only would he not be under guard, there would not be a single surveillance camera on him).
Hodges versus his old nemesis does not provide a lot of grist for the mill. Accordingly, there is a lot of flashbacking and over-explanations to pad out the story (End of Watch is like a parody of a Bond villain, wherein every single aspect of the baddie's plan is thoroughly explained). This creates an odd sensation, as a totally nonsensical plot is over-explicated in mind-numbingly literal fashion.
Part of my dislike of this novel, bordering on disgust, is that I feel like I was tricked. And not in a good way.
This series began as a grounded, real life police procedural. It was always more macabre than hardboiled, and we can quibble about the verisimilitude, but the first two books stuck to the basic realities of life here on earth. But then, without warning, King changed the rules. Suddenly, we’re in a world of Jedi mind tricks, psychic projection, and warging. Throughout the series, I’ve complained about all the times when common sense (and the law) cried out for Hodges to call the police. Finally, there is a good reason for his reticence. They wouldn’t believe him. I would not blame them. There is nothing believable about the direction this storyline takes. Probably the most unbelievable thing at all is how quickly Hodges and Holly and Jerome are able to dispense with their accumulated wisdom and experience and accept that they have been transported to the movie Fallen. (The 1998 film, with Denzel).
In the first two entries, King seemed to struggle with plot. The pieces fit into place with precision, but that precision was achieved through incredible coincidences, absurdly bad decisions by some characters, and amazingly prescient decisions by others. King solves the problem by throwing worry out the window and going full preposterous.
At this point, you are probably reaching for a brick, which you intend to throw through my window. And on that brick, will be a message. That message, I have no doubt, will say: This is a Stephen King novel. What the hell did you expect?
Yeah, I get it. It’s Stephen King. The master of supernatural horror. He wrote It and The Shining and The Tommyknockers. Here’s the difference, though. When I pick up a book like Under the Dome, I know the genre going in. I know that I have to accept the conceit of an impermeable dome enclosing a city. That is the “world” in which the novel exists. The world of the Bill Hodges Trilogy, up until End of Watch, has not been a place where the supernatural coexists with the natural. Furthermore, while King teased the return of the third book’s villain, he did not prepare me for the eventual path he was going to take.
(There is a slight chance that better warning might have heightened my enjoyment. For example, I knew before starting The Outsider that it would meld genres, and I have enjoyed it so far, on those terms).
King’s novels have always been filled with grace notes. There is usually a scene, or a character, or a back-story that I remember, even when nothing else is working. Those grace notes are almost nonexistent in End of Watch. King has always been an author who used his material to grapple with his own life. Clearly, he is thinking about aging, and the end of the road, because early on, he saddles 69 year-old Hodges with pancreatic cancer. In a better novel, this might have jumpstarted a meaningful meditation on old age and life’s glimmering twilight. Unfortunately, King never makes this fully real. The disease, while causing him physical pain, never really slows Hodges down. Instead, it acts more as a plot-amplifier, a play on the ticking time bomb scenario. In light of the utter ridiculousness all around, Hodges’ diagnosis has little impact.
Instead of grace notes, we get King’s usual nastiness. For whatever reason, perhaps because there are few redeeming qualities, the nastiness bothered me more than usual. The chief unpleasantness of End of Watch is suicide. I don’t think I’m spoiling anything by saying this, as the original title – announced by King before publication – was The Suicide Prince.
Typically, I don’t provide trigger warning in my reviews. Mainly this is a function of the fact that I read mostly history and biography, and if you’re triggered by a biography of John Quincy Adams, no warning is going to save you. I make an exception here because the theme of suicide is the poison in this book’s bloodstream. I would like to say it is handled sensitively, but it is not. Instead, it’s the basis of several scenes of graphically cruel violence (many of the victims are teens). I am pretty comfortable with the evidence showing that high profile suicides have a real-world effect on suicide rates, so I think knowing this is important before starting. (King provides a post-story tag in which he gives the suicide prevention hotline number. Putting this at the end of the book is like calling the fire department a day after your house burned down).
I realize that I am probably in the minority when it comes to End of Watch. I am not a Stephen King super-fan. I have not read all his books, or even most of them. I don’t grab his new releases as soon as they come out (with his profligacy, I can’t keep up). Still, I have liked, and often loved, the titles I have read, and I firmly believe that King is one of the great American writers of all time (though his reputation will always suffer due to his chosen genre).
It is therefore with detachment, mingled with respect, that I say this is a near-terrible novel. It is easily the worst thing I’ve read that King had written.
All stories borrow elements from other stories, as many themes and plot-points are universal. That said, this feels derivative and cobbled together. At his best, King’s work has always felt shockingly original. Even when he works in a familiar setting, such as a haunted hotel, he goes in such unfamiliar directions that even archetypal tales come across as new and unique.
End of Watch does not feel that way at all. It is ludicrous, but in a desperate way, as though King had written himself into a corner, and his solution was to blow that corner to hell with a truckload of C-4.
It is a testament to King and his reputation that I read this series at all. Without his name on the cover, and all that entails, I never would have picked up these books in the first place.