A lot of what happens here takes place in the mind rather than in space. There are still battles, still stakes, but they feel different. It's quieter, in a strange way and more abstract. It took me a while to settle into that, and I’m not sure I ever fully did.

And then, at the novel’s core, comes an unexpected relationship. It’s unconventional, built on sincerity and a refreshing lack of sentimentality. Communication isn’t instant or effortless—it’s painstakingly constructed through trial, error, and the stubborn refusal to give up when understanding seems just out of reach. It’s quietly profound. In a plot that’s ostensibly about saving humanity, it’s connection (not conquest) that matters most.

King Sorrow is less interested in what begins than in what continues. Joe Hill’s novel follows six friends bound by an occult pact that refuses to remain in the past, unfolding into a quiet, sustained study of responsibility, complicity, and the weight of carrying something forward.