King Sorrow, Joe Hill’s Latest, Proves the Real Horror is Living With What You Choose

King Sorrow is a confident and unsettling return to novel-writing for Joe Hill, blending modern fantasy, emotional realism, and quiet horror into a story that lingers long after the final page.

Hill, the son of legendary author Stephen King, tells the story of six friends who, in desperation, summon a dragon-like demon, the eponymous King Sorrow, in an occult ritual, to help them deal with a gang of drug dealers who are threatening a member of the group. However, they find summoning the dragon is the easiest bit, as it continues to demand sacrifices, causing chaos over the decades the novel follows the group.

At its core, the novel, Hill’s first in nearly a decade, explores the cost of wanting more than life is prepared to give. Hill is less interested in spectacle than consequence, and the book unfolds with a slow, deliberate pressure that rewards patient readers. The world feels real, grounded in ordinary frustrations, ambitions, and friendships, yet threaded with something ancient and malevolent that never fully explains itself. That restraint is one of the book’s greatest strengths.

Hill’s prose is sharp without being showy. He has an instinctive feel for dialogue, especially among characters bound by shared history and unspoken guilt. Relationships drive the narrative more than plot mechanics, and the emotional stakes often feel heavier than the supernatural ones. When the horror surfaces, it does so obliquely, through implication, atmosphere, and the sense that choices made long ago cannot be undone.

Tonally, King Sorrow is a more reflective work than his earlier novels. There are moments of dark humour, but they never undercut the seriousness of the themes. The novel wrestles with power, regret, and the illusions people build to survive adulthood. It asks what happens when those illusions start demanding payment.

Hill sometimes falls into his father’s occasional habit of lecturing his readers who may not have the “right” politics. The inclusion of a minor transgender character feels forced, for example, but this is a minor criticism.

Readers looking for constant shocks may find the pacing too slow, but those drawn to character-driven dark fantasy will find a deeply satisfying experience. King Sorrow trusts its audience, refuses to overexplain, and understands that the most frightening thing is not the monster, but the mirror it holds up to its characters.

At nearly 1 000 pages some readers may find the length daunting, but the book seldom drags, and most will find themselves compelled to find out what happens to our protagonists.

Lovers of character-driven fantasy horror will find that Hill is a chip off the old block, and a worthy successor to his father’s literary legacy.