Under the Dome | Stephen King

Title: Under the Dome

Author: Stephen King

I spent the first few decades of my life actively avoiding Stephen King. While other teenagers were devouring his paperbacks in the school library, I was perfectly content staying in my lane with less "messed up" literature. However, about eleven years ago, I finally decided to see what the fuss was about. This late-blooming curiosity eventually landed me at Under the Dome, a 1,072-page beast that is the literary equivalent of a massive bag of theater popcorn--you know it's not exactly high-brow nutrition, but it's addictive, and you're sure as can be not stopping until you hit the bottom.

The setup is delightfully simple: the town of Chester's Mill is suddenly encased in an impenetrable, transparent dome. One minute you're driving to the next town for groceries, the next you're hitting an invisible wall like a confused sparrow.

While the government spends 1,000 pages scratching its head on the outside, the townspeople on the inside get right down to the business of losing their collective minds. King uses the dome as a giant petri dish to see how quickly a community devolves into a Lord of the Flies nightmare when you add a dash of claustrophobia and a pinch of dwindling resources.

If you're looking for nuanced, shades of gray character studies, keep walking. King paints his cast with a very thick brush. We have our hero, Dale "Barbie" Barbara, an Iraq War vet and a short-order cook who is essentially the only person with a functioning moral compass and the tactical sense to match. On the other side is Big Jim Rennie, the most loathsome creature King has ever birthed. If you mixed a used car salesman with a megachurch dictator and sprinkled a sense of sociopathy, you'd get Big Jim. He believes that quoting scripture and abstaining from cuss words makes him one of God's chosen, using religion as a shield for his own superiority complex. Then there is the herd--a massive cast that occasionally feels like a series of tropes, from the brave journalist to the weak-minded cronies. While individual characters can feel one-dimensional, they work perfectly as a collective to portray the real character: small-town America. King nails the bovine stupidity of a crowd in a panic.

The book isn't without its flaws. There are some clunker sentences that made me wince, and the abundance of detail sometimes feels like King is just showing off how much he can fit into a single volume. Also, I'll be honest: the big reveal regarding the origin of the dome was a disappointment because it seemed so glaringly obvious from the jump. However, the strengths are undeniable. For a book that weighs as much as a small toddler, it moves remarkably fast. It isn't the supernatural stuff that gets you; it's the horror of human nature. The descriptions of the air turning toxic and the slow decline of civilization made me feel physically claustrophobic. Furthermore, there is a catastrophic scene toward the end that is genuinely some of the most visceral, terrifying writing I've ever encountered.

I ended up really enjoying this ride. While I might have felt some physical strain from supporting the mammoth weight of such a giant book, I didn't mind the investment one bit. King is a master storyteller for a reason--he knows exactly how to wring your heart with excitement while making a point about the fundamental flaws of mankind. It's sudsy, cinematic, and gloriously over-the-top. Just don't read it if you're already feeling a little nervous about your neighbors.

Four out of five stars.