Stephen King’s latest novel Fairy Tale was written during lockdown times and it represents an escapist fantasy narrative that doubles as a tribute to the fairy tales King grew up with and the weird fiction classics that influenced him. Tales by the Brothers Grimm are discussed and mirrored in the novel, while there’s also more than a little obvious Lovecraftian influence peppered throughout its magical world. But does the book work as an independent story?

Fairy Tale’s plot is set in motion when 17-year-old Charlie Reed does a good deed: he helps out the elderly Mr. Bowditch when the latter gets injured in his backyard, and the two form a bond. Charlie becomes Mr. Bowditch’s caretaker and also befriends his old dog Radar. Before long, the boy discovers that the shed in Mr. Bowditch’s backyard actually hides a passage to another world. Soon thereafter, a fairy tale-like adventure begins for Charlie, who journeys into this world with Radar.

Just another magic portal affair?

At its core, the story is one King has written again and again. There is a portal to another world hidden smack in the middle of some middle class American setting. The author owes the gist of this premise to the huge impression that The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe left on him as a child, and he loves it so much that similar versions of this magical portal trope can be found in not so few of his other novels: 11/22/63, Lisey’s Story, Rose Madder, The Talisman (written with Peter Straub), From a Buick 8 (which, interestingly, is about what happens outside the portal), not to mention the Dark Tower novel series, where world-hopping is a cornerstone of the narrative. Other King staples are also here, such as the alcoholic parent, and the teenage protagonist thrown into a coming-of-age adventure.

The novel features an illustration at the beginning of each chapter – "like the classic novels of mystery and adventure in days of old", as King puts it in his acknowledgements to the artists, Gabriel Rodríguez and Nicolas Delort.

The problem is that every time King rehashes a similar story, it becomes harder to buy. For example, this time around, you start noticing odd things about 17-year-old Charlie Reed: he has a weirdly exoticizing understanding of 2010’s technology as he checks things out “on the Net” (everything’s on there!); he and a friend of his were super well-read at 11(!), knowing more than a thing or two about Lovecraft’s fiction; Charlie also references a lot of older pop culture for a kid his age (it’s because he watches so many old movie re-runs with his dad); he barely has any friends (but isn’t lonely) and they, at best, appear very sporadically in his life; he is also curiously chaste (he once approached a teenage girl he liked, whose lines of dialogue included the phrase “Oh poop!”); finally, Charlie is, of course, exceedingly brave and good-hearted.

Charlie Reed is more of an older man’s romantic conception of a modern teenager, and this becomes very transparent, sometimes to a distracting degree. It still is a well-meaning and kind portrayal, but unfortunately also a rather uninteresting and unrealistic one (and King likes nothing more than making his characters realistic). Charlie’s exemplary nature sort of ties into later developments in the story, but by that time his strikingly improbable character may have made the reader tune out.

Besides Charlie, the novel’s other characters are the usual black-and-white figures that populate King’s fiction. There are the baddies, and then there are the good, down-to-earth people, who may have many peculiarities and struggles, but ultimately have kind hearts. Charlie is supposed to be a little more morally complex because... he went through a phase of misbehaving as a pre-teen, influenced by a Bad Boy he had befriended. Even if that backstory had the gravity it aspires to, this element is not going to even register against how frontloaded with virtues his character is: he’s not even an anti-hero or the “dark prince” King wanted him to be. He’s just an honest-to-god good boy, here to do great things. Nothing wrong with that though, right?

Too much of a good thing

Certainly, uncomplicated good-versus-evil tales can be great fun, but it’s impossible to overlook how passé all this is. In this case, a good revival of the fairy tale ethos would need to go beyond reusing the conventions step by step, and unfortunately, this novel (despite King’s intentions) does not have many interesting twists to the formula. It doesn’t so much deconstruct as re-enact: it retells a very old type of story.

While this seems to be a heartfelt approach on King’s part, it is also something that bogs down the plot. It’s difficult to be transported into a magical world of adventure when you feel like you’ve read this all before. Some weird elements are thrown into the mix at times, but at most, they make the reader raise their eyebrows. In fact, there’s probably more to be said about the representation of disability in this book, which becomes a shallow trope for the novel’s magical world. But surely that is not the way you want to surprise your readers.

The problem is that every time King rehashes a similar story, it becomes harder to buy

Of course, it’s not all bad. Fairy Tale is probably King’s most wholesome book to date, despite some darker elements. It is often genuinely heartwarming, and its more tightly crafted parts are transportive and exciting. Elsewhere, however, the story gets overwritten (a chronic King flaw) and somewhat muddled. Overall, this is an uneven rollercoaster ride of a read: the book opens with an especially touching telling of traumatic experiences Charlie faced in his childhood; then it gets lost in portraying Charlie as an admirably well-adjusted (and, ultimately, boring) young man; then the narrative refocuses on a lovely relationship between a dog and its owner and on touching representations of kindness; then we get some cartoonish bad guys; but in the end, the book mostly delivers on its promise of a well-told battle of good versus evil. The point is, it’s a mixed bag.

King’s Kingdom of Mixed Bags

Stephen King is incredibly prolific. The man just writes, writes, and writes, every day, on virtually any idea that comes to him. While one can’t help but admire his dedication, this also means that King’s output, both in terms of ideas and in terms of their execution, is not that refined and thereby obviously uneven. He can conjure up horror imagery that becomes iconic (It, Carrie), and also tell ludicrous (and bizarrely misogynistic) tales of haunted cars (Christine). His books can be long-winded and all-over-the-place (The Stand, Needful Things), or they can be tight and horrifying stories of people facing some deep suffering (Pet Sematary, Gerald’s Game). They can also have very strong moments buried within a mostly uninteresting story (Revival, Wizard and Glass).

But whatever King writes, it can’t really fail anymore. In fact, Universal Pictures has already acquired the rights for a film adaptation of Fairy Tale. Really, it’s enough to look at his books’ covers to see how King's name has become a brand logo. His influence on modern horror fiction is huge and obvious when you look at Netflix hits like Stranger Things or Midnight Mass. Even his own works include references to his older stuff as cultural relics now (Fairy Tale includes an eyeroll-worthy reference to Cujo). All in all, it seems like King’s enormous success gives him free rein to publish pretty much anything, and publishers are bound to happily push what he writes onto the market. Fairy Tale is unfortunately one of those cases where the book itself is somewhat half-baked, but good old Steve has written it, so here it is, I guess.

Fairy Tale is probably King’s most wholesome book to date, despite some darker elements

All this said, this novel is still not a waste of time if you’re in the mood for some wholesome dark fantasy entertainment. Say what you want about King, but the man can still put out a page-turner like the best of them. Of course, it’s hard to overlook the devil in the details in late King novels like Fairy Tale. The issue is that very important details are not given enough attention — it’s not necessary, after all, the books become best-sellers anyway. One thing that the details especially betray in Fairy Tale is that King is a little more out of touch nowadays, particularly when it comes to writing younger characters, although he makes a valiant effort. Ultimately, this book seems to be King's attempt to write something he and other people would want to read after grim times of lockdown and isolation. It’s hard not to appreciate that sentiment.

In the end, you can try to understand and cherish today’s Stephen King as your (millionaire) storyteller grandpa, or you can decide you’d rather do something else with your time. Personally, I’m not super excited for any more books he is bound to churn out in the coming years, but I think I will read them anyway, like I read Fairy Tale: sometimes smiling, sometimes raising my eyebrows, but never bored. Keep ‘em coming, Steve!