Book Review: Pet Sematary by Stephen King



So, this is what a King horror is. I liked it, but not for the reasons I was expecting. I liked the characters, the environment, the descriptions, and the narration. It was all just downright GOOD storytelling so I definitely get why people love his books.

But the horror…

I just don’t see this as horror. It’s a tragedy with paranormal elements.

1. an event causing great suffering, destruction, and distress, such as a serious accident, crime, or natural catastrophe.
“a tragedy that killed 95 people”

synonyms: disaster, calamity, catastrophe, cataclysm, devastation, misfortune,misadventure, mishap, reverse, vicissitude, setback, trial, tribulation,affliction, blight, injury, adversity, sad event, serious accident

2. a play dealing with tragic events and having an unhappy ending, especially one concerning the downfall of the main character.
“Shakespeare’s tragedies”
synonyms: tragic drama, drama, play;
Did it scare me? Honestly, no. Not in the ‘boo’ sense or in the creepy sense or in the ‘oh, the horror!’ sense. It was sad. It was horrible. But for me, it wasn’t horror.

The psychology was good, and I found it fascinating, but it wasn’t messed up to the extreme that would make the characters unlikeable. Was I expecting more? Was I expecting it to go further down the rabbit hole? I think maybe I was.

This is a good book, no doubt about it, and it’s possibly as good an introduction to King as any (said by a person who’s never read a King book before). But for someone who likes horror and monsters, it’s just not that kind of book, ya know?

Okay, even though it’s been a week since I finished this book, I still can’t express my opinion in a sensible manner. If you want a book that will make you think about it long after you read it, this is your book.

I read this as part of the Goodreads Group “RMFAO (Reading My Friggin A** Off)“‘s buddy read for the month of November.

Pet Sematary, by Stephen King
Book Length: 465 pages
Adult Horror Fiction.

According to the Blurb:

The house looks right, feels right, to Dr Louis Creed. Rambling, old and comfortable. A place where the family can settle; the children can grow and play and explore. The rolling hills and meadows of Maine seem a world away from the fume-choked dangers of Chicago.

Only the occasional big truck out on the two-lane highway growls out and intrusive threat. But behind the house there’s a carefully cleared path up into the woods where generations of local children have processed with the solemn innocence of the young, taking with them their dear departed pets for burial.

A sad place maybe, but safe. Surely a safe place. Not a place to seep into your dreams, to wake you, sweating with fear and foreboding…