Every Dead Thing, John Connolly's first Charlie Parker novel, reminds me of a scene in Stephen King's The Stand, where Larry Underwood has to escape an apocalyptic New York by making his way through a body-strewn Lincoln Tunnel. The lights are out and every sound in the darkness sparks new terror. The only way out is through. His journey is traumatising, but he can't turn back.
Starting into the first few pages of Every Dead Thing felt like I was being sucked into that dark tunnel against my will. Those initial steps were horror incarnate, but it was impossible to turn back. My only hope was for some light at the end of the tunnel--some pinprick to bring meaning or catharsis to the horror found in those early pages.
Every Dead Thing is a bleak, bleak story. Death--painful, tragic death--haunts ex-NYPD detective Charlie Parker like a vengeful spirit from the first few pages straight through to the end as he becomes embroiled in various criminal plots. This is not a story about good versus evil. It is simply a story about evil and what it might be like to come into contact with it in its most raw form.
If there's one thing I learned as a writer from this novel, it's the power that committing to the extreme can lend to theme. Connolly does not hold back on the horror. To do so would be to shy away from the nature of what he's exploring here.
I don't know if Charlie Parker found the catharsis he was looking for during the final pages of the novel. He and I reached the end of the tunnel, but the light there was meagre--a lone candle flickering in the night. It might just be enough to see by.
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