Stephen King: The Outsider
The Outsider (2018) by Stephen King
My Rating: 3.5 of 5 stars
I was first introduced to Stephen King earlier this year when I read one of his best books, Misery, which instantly made me a fan. I went on to read more of King’s work—On Writing, The Mist, and Mr. Mercedes, all of which I would highly recommend. I enjoyed reading the first two-thirds of The Outsider, but the last third was like a lukewarm burger that had been sitting for hours in a bucket of grease—disappointingly mediocre and hard to finish. Although I wanted to put it down, to King’s credit, his preceding chapters had developed such a level of suspense that it left me curious to know how the story ended. And honestly, after reading the book to completion, I wouldn’t recommend this book, especially not to those looking for a good crime fiction novel.
Disclaimer: The following section includes spoilers.
The story starts with the arrest of Terry Maitland, Little League baseball coach, English teacher, father, and beloved member of the community of Flint City. Frank Peterson, an eleven-year-old boy, was found raped and mutilated in the woods, the evidence including—witness testimony, fingerprints, and DNA (semen) found on the boy, all undisputably point to Terry. The case appearing to be solved, Ralph Anderson, the lead detective on this case, whose son was once coached by Terry, in a fit of rage, sends his subordinates to arrest Terry during the semi-final game, publicly humiliating him in front of the community and his wife and two daughters. However, after questioning Terry and investigating his alibi, they find video evidence placing him in Cap City attending an English teacher’s conference with his colleagues during the time of the murder. The detectives are dumbfounded at this impossibility, but there is no turning back.
My Favorite Part of the Book: Footsteps and Cantaloupe
A little over 200 pages of 640 (in the edition I own), after an arraignment gone wrong, Bill Samuels, district attorney, and Detective Ralph Anderson, are having a chat where both tell opposing metaphors to describe the Terry Maitland case.
This is an excellent example of one of the reason’s why I love King’s work. It seems like the story is at a standstill—just a chat between two detectives going over a strange case, but he uses this scene to slow the pace down. In addition to outlining the evidence in it’s entirety, for and against Terry, there were incidents concerning the Peterson family’s mental state—the additional deaths of the mother and older brother leading to the father’s attempted suicide, as well as, the arraignment where the unthinkable happened to Terry, which in total is a lot of information to digest. The scene that followed gives readers a chance to comprehend the story while showing the contrasting character of the two detectives. A masterclass of “show, don’t tell.” And I just love the cantaloupe metaphor!
Bill’s metaphor:
“a newly married couple that went on their honeymoon in the Mojave Desert. Camping, you know. Well, one night they pitched their little tent in a grove of cottonwoods, and when the young bride woke up the next morning, her husband was gone. She walked out of the grove to where the sand started, and saw his tracks. She called out to him, but there was no answer.” […]
“She followed the tracks over the first dune, then over the second. The tracks kept getting fresher. She followed them over the third…” […]
“The third dune was as far as she got. His tracks went halfway down the far side, then stopped. Just stopped, with acres of sand all around. She never saw him again.” […]
“Sometimes tracks just stop, and we have to live with that.”
In other words, Bill was saying that there wasn’t enough evidence, that the case was over, and sometimes that is the truth. Ralph’s rebuttal:
“One big difference,” Ralph said. “The woman in your story about the footsteps could believe her husband was still alive somewhere. She could go on believing that until she was an old woman instead of a young bride. But when Marcy got to the end of her husband’s tracks, Terry was there, dead on the sidewalk.” […] “Along with fifty news vultures outside the fence, that is, yelling questions and snapping pictures.”
Bill is already trying to move on while Ralph is trying to continue chasing the case—it is their duty to do so as cops. They owe it to Marcy—and the Petersons. Ralph goes on with his own personal metaphor of the case:
“When I was a kid,” Ralph said, “ten or eleven—around Frank Peterson’s age—my mother sometimes used to bring home cantaloupes from the farmers’ market, if they were in season. Back then I loved cantaloupe. They’ve got this sweet, dense flavor watermelon can’t get close to. So one day she brought home three or four in a net bag, and I asked her if I could have a piece. ‘Sure,’ she said. ‘Just remember to scrape the seeds into the sink.’ She didn’t really have to tell me that, because I’d opened my share of cantaloupes by then. You with me so far?”
“Uh-huh. I suppose you cut yourself, right?”
“No, but my mother thought I did, because I let out a screech they probably heard next door. She came on the run, and I just pointed at the cantaloupe, laying there on the counter, split in two. It was full of maggots and flies.
[…] That’s my Terry Maitland metaphor, Bill. The cantaloupe looked fine. It wasn’t spongy. The skin was whole. There was no way those bugs could have gotten inside, but somehow they did.”
Tolerable Fantasy
I’m not usually a fan of fantasy, but what King does during this part of the novel I found to be more than tolerable because the subtle hints added a great deal of suspense while still pushing the story forward. Multiple characters—Maitland’s youngest daughter, Detective Anderson’s wife, and Detective Jack Hoskins, were visited by a malevolent being, its physical traits being cleverly revealed in small details in what seemed like dreams—nightmares, each detail different from person to person. These supernatural incidents—getting past a home security system, possible hallucinations of a man standing outside of a window, the feeling of being touched on the back of the neck, and others, were still dancing on the fine line between realism and fantasy, which boosted my curiosity without activating my bullshit sensor. Is this supernatural? Or is this the human mind playing its cruel tricks?
Mr. Mercedes’ Holly Gibney Cameo
Holly makes a cameo a little after 300 pages after being hired by Howie Gold, the lawyer that represented Terry and family friend of the Maitland’s, who was initially trying to reach retired Detective Bill Hodges, to help in the investigation. Both Holly and Detective Bill Hodges are originally from the Mr. Mercedes Trilogy (2014-2016). There is no need to read that series in order to understand this book, but in my opinion, having read Mr. Mercedes prior to this, gave me the advantage of understanding the reasons behind Holly’s decisions and behavior in this book. Knowing her backstory enhanced my experiences especially since Holly plays a reasonable part in the last 240 pages, and there are references to both Bill Hodges and Brady Hartsfield, the villain from the same trilogy, which make more sense if you’ve read these preceding novels.
The Downsides
Despite being an admirer of Stephen King, the reason I sought after this book was its premise: how can two stories both be true? I am currently attempting to write my own crime fiction novel based on a similar premise, and I wanted to get a sense of how this could be possible while still upholding realism that would satisfy my readers, but in the end, from the perspective of an enthusiast of crime fiction, I felt that Stephen King took the easy way out, using the supernatural to explain the murders that occur in the story. I am fully aware that this is a horror novel, so perhaps I shouldn’t be as annoyed, but after 400 pages of gut-wrenching suspense, the book took a turn in the opposite direction.
One scene that really irked me was the first meeting between Holly and the detectives of Flint City. After the detectives laid out all the facts, they invite Holly to speak on evidence that she had uncovered in Ohio, where the white van used in the murder of Frank Peterson was originally stolen. Holly then goes on a rant about El Cuco, a Mexican myth of a monster that eats people for their blood, as a viable explanation for the murders, going on to show them a movie clip. In my opinion, this scene had no value whatsoever. There were already numerous hints of supernatural activity littered throughout such as—a man that was witnessed by the detectives at the courthouse during the arraignment was somehow not in the video recording caught by the TV News cameras. Unlike the latter, the scene describing the Mexican myth, El Cuco, added nothing to the story, making me feel like King was trying to justify the murders with a hasty explanation, given by Holly, that was purely conjecture. This left me, including most of the other characters in the novel itself, unsatisfied and unconvinced.
As the book was coming to a close, Holly starts to press the issue of belief. She criticizes the other detectives on this case of not believing in a supernatural being—this time making a slightly more convincing case for the existence of this monster:
“No. Listen to me. I know it’s crazy. But is the idea of El Cuco any more inexplicable than some of the terrible things that happen in the world? Not natural disasters or accidents, I’m talking about the things some people do to others. Wasn’t Ted Bundy just a version of El Cuco, a shape-shifter with one face for the people he knew and another for the women he killed? The last thing those women saw was his other face, inside face, the face of El Cuco. There are others. They walk among us. You know they do. They’re aliens. Monsters beyond our understanding. Yet you believe in them.”
However, I would argue that Ted Bundy was real and not some mythical story. The supernatural being in this novel is able to essentially teleport himself—allowing him to bypass security systems without leaving much evidence of his presence. It is also able to transform itself into the person he wants to incriminate—altering his face and body, as well as any other physical traits like tattoos, and he is able to assimilate the person’s memories too. How do you compare something like that to a human?
The book ends with some action that rekindled some of my attention, but at that point, my stake in the book had become so low that it took me almost a week to finish the last hundred-fifty pages. Instead, I recommend you read Mr. Mercedes (2014), also by Stephen King—winner of the Edgar Award for Best Novel (2015) and winner of Goodreads Choice Awards Best Mystery & Thriller (2014).
Thanks for reading and let me know what y’all thought about the book in the comments below. Book recommendations are also welcome.
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