As a devoted Stephen King enthusiast for over two decades, having devoured nearly every book he has penned, it pains me to admit that Mr. Mercedes was a significant letdown. Navigating through this novel felt like a chore, a stark contrast to the usual page-turning compulsion King’s work instills, even in his less stellar efforts. Where his weaker books still held a certain magnetic pull, a need to know what happens next, Mr. Mercedes evoked a sense of indifference. My perseverance was solely driven by a completist desire to tick another King book off my list, not by any genuine engagement with the narrative itself. Frankly, the book seemed to actively resist being finished. My disappointment is profound, stemming from numerous issues that I will attempt to articulate, though I fear my frustration may lead to some incoherence. Stephen King remains one of my favorite authors, yet that loyalty does not preclude honest criticism when a book falls short. To put it bluntly, Mr. Mercedes quacks like a duck of questionable quality.
Character Catastrophes in Mr. Mercedes
Character development, typically a Stephen King strength, is where Mr. Mercedes falters most dramatically. King’s exceptional ability to craft believable and relatable characters, often within just a few lines, is legendary. He usually excels at creating figures that resonate deeply with readers from the outset.
However, in Mr. Mercedes, this crucial element is conspicuously absent. The characters feel less like people and more like hollow shells, mere plot devices. Imagine a clearance sale of cardboard cutouts, and you’ll grasp the level of depth afforded to the figures in this book. None of them approach King’s usual character-writing standards. They are flat, stereotypical, and serve solely to advance the plot mechanically. They are chess pieces moved from point A to B to C, devoid of the nuanced humanity that typically defines King’s storytelling.
From the very opening dialogue, the interactions feel forced and unnatural. Consider Augie and Janice, introduced while camping out for a job fair. These characters are presumably unemployed and job-seeking, yet Augie feels compelled to explain “downsized” to Janice – defining it as “the twenty-first-century way of saying I got canned.” This explanation is jarringly unnecessary. The term “downsized” is hardly novel to the 21st century, and even a younger individual like Janice would likely grasp its meaning within the given context. This exemplifies a pervasive issue throughout the book: excessive and clumsy exposition, spelling out the obvious. Subtlety is utterly absent, replaced by a heavy-handed, almost condescending approach to dialogue, reminiscent of a Bond villain over-explaining their nefarious scheme.
Janice, presented as a young, unemployed single mother, is intended to evoke sympathy. However, her character veers into caricature. Her pronouncements about single motherhood as some grand historical apology feel contrived and ridiculous. It’s as if she’s designed to be a sacrificial lamb, purely to trigger our empathy and set the stage for the hero to emerge and confront the sadistic killer.
Every character seems to speak with the same voice, further reinforcing their cardboard cutout nature. They are differentiated only by superficial labels. Janey is the blonde one, Jerome is explicitly identified as Black and intellectual, Bill Hodges is the overweight ex-cop, Mr. Mercedes is the angry antagonist, and Holly is the mentally ill woman on medication. These are not characters; they are labels attached to rudimentary outlines. Their dialogue bubbles could be interchanged without discernible difference, highlighting their lack of individual voice and depth.
The characters also suffer from a bizarre oversharing tendency. Simple questions elicit lengthy, irrelevant responses. Asking about a safe deposit box leads to a detailed banking history. Inquiring about a mother’s well-being prompts an exhaustive account of restaurant choices and DVD selections. Asking about a car results in a rambling monologue about make, model, color, and unrelated anecdotes about movie viewings and local businesses.
This incessant, pointless detail permeates the entire book, becoming mind-numbing and prompting the suspicion that King may have outsourced the writing to someone entirely unfamiliar with his style and quality. The sheer thought that this is the work of THE Stephen King is genuinely disheartening.
Fat-Shaming and Awkward Intimacy in Mr. Mercedes
Beyond the flat characters, the book also stumbles into uncomfortable territory with fat-shaming and a bizarrely portrayed sex scene. Bill Hodges’s weight, described as thirty pounds overweight, is presented as a grotesque and debilitating condition. Hodges and others react to this minor weight gain as if it were a profound moral failing, diminishing his worth as a person. He views the extra weight as a “coffin” he carries around, expressing disbelief that any woman could find him attractive. While King has touched on weight issues before, notably in Thinner, the relentless focus and negative framing in Mr. Mercedes feel particularly jarring and offensive. The constant judgmental undertones surrounding Hodges’s weight become irritating and unnecessary.
This fat-shaming culminates in a cringeworthy sex scene with Janey. She expresses concern that Hodges’s weight might “crush” her during sex, but her control extends far beyond positioning. She dictates a sex act devoid of any mutuality or interaction. Hodges is reduced to a passive participant, forbidden from touching, talking, or moving. Janey’s demands are less about empowerment and more about a disturbing lack of consent, as if Hodges’s presence is merely tolerated, not desired. Yet, Hodges is portrayed as grateful for any sexual attention, suggesting a deeply unhealthy dynamic.
Janey’s character, despite her supposed “strength” and “independence,” is consistently dependent on Hodges throughout the narrative. She requires his support for even mundane tasks and displays a surprising lack of self-reliance, contradicting her earlier assertions of strength. Her morning-after question, “How’s your cholesterol?” is incredibly intrusive and judgmental, especially considering Hodges is preparing breakfast for her. Her subsequent comments about bacon further reinforce her judgmental and unpleasant nature, making Hodges’s attraction to her perplexing beyond the purely physical.
Stereotypes and Pop Culture Missteps in Mr. Mercedes
The character of Jerome also suffers from problematic stereotyping. His dialogue frequently veers into what feels like a caricature of African-American Vernacular English, coming across as stereotypical and jarring. These moments are uncomfortable and feel deeply out of place, detracting from any potential depth the character might have possessed.
Holly, initially presented as personality-less, eventually merges into the generic character mold of the book. Her defining trait becomes her Lexapro medication, repeatedly emphasized, and an irritating tic of repeating phrases three times. While intended to portray mental health struggles, this repetition devolves into a caricature, reducing her complexity to a single, exaggerated symptom.
Brady, the antagonist, is ultimately underwhelming. While his anonymity is initially unsettling, his motivations are revealed to be shallow and stereotypical – a spoiled teenager in a rebellious phase with predictable mommy and daddy issues. He lacks the nuanced psychological depth often found in King’s more compelling villains.
The pop culture references throughout Mr. Mercedes feel forced and anachronistic. While King often integrates pop culture effectively, grounding his stories in relatable contemporary details, in Mr. Mercedes, these references feel clumsy and out of touch. The book seems unsure of its target audience, oscillating between appealing to older readers and awkwardly attempting to inject “youthful” slang and references.
For example, a 62-year-old retired white cop using terms like “moms” feels unnatural and strained. The reference to “tramp-stamps” in the context of Jerry Springer feels dated and out of place. The condescending portrayal of women’s understanding of car dashboards, referring to warning lights as “cute little lights,” is both sexist and unnecessary. Similarly, Hodges’s dismissive term for Holly’s medication, “little white happy-caps,” trivializes her mental health and reinforces the overall tone of condescension.
Unearned Praise and Convenient Plot Devices in Mr. Mercedes
Finally, the narrative strains credibility in its portrayal of Bill Hodges’s investigative abilities. His lauded career and supposed detective skills are largely unearned within the context of the book. He relies heavily on Holly and Jerome to solve the case, often acting on hunches and intuition rather than sound deduction. His investigative approach is reckless and impulsive, bordering on irresponsible. The plot relies on convenient contrivances, such as Hodges’s old partner being perpetually unavailable due to conveniently timed “major busts” whenever Hodges seeks assistance.
In conclusion, Mr. Mercedes is a deeply disappointing entry in Stephen King’s otherwise impressive bibliography. From its flat, stereotypical characters and unnatural dialogue to its uncomfortable fat-shaming, awkward sex scene, and forced pop culture references, the book is riddled with flaws. The plot is weak, the protagonist’s accolades unconvincing, and the overall reading experience frustrating. Mr. Mercedes falls far short of the standards expected from Stephen King, leaving this long-time fan profoundly underwhelmed.
