“You were starting to sound a little like a Stephen King novel for a while there, but it’s not like that…”

“The definition of an asshole,” reflects one character later on, “is a guy who doesn’t believe what he’s seeing.” Billy’s constant denial of his own culpability in the death of Lemke’s daughter – it was his wife’s fault for giving him a hand job while driving, or the old woman’s for jaywalking – are classic setups begging for a comeuppance. We learn that those who encountered the ever-looming figure of Lemke, foreshadowed by constant descriptions of his cancerous nose, have each succumbed to physical ailments such as body scales and extreme acne. Strangely, this is where THINNER works best, as a psychological horror tale of one man’s descent into motivated madness. Succumbing to uncontrollable weight loss, he soon finds himself alternatively distrusted by and horrifying to his nearest and dearest, especially as he insists that he is the victim of a “Gypsy curse” by a man known as Taduz Lemke. We meet this man shortly after getting off scot-free for the vehicular manslaughter of an elderly “Gypsy” woman, another dated term used liberally (along with ‘gyp’) in the text. It’s important to remember this in objectivity because King has historically been a bit guilty of some casual fat-shaming, most notably in It (1986) and as recently as Mr.

I say this up front because he is established – by ticking chapter headings – as 246 pounds (about 111 kg) and 6 foot 2. It’s an anxiety that many share, and as the basis for a horror novel its both disturbing and uncomfortable. Even while sitting down to write this, five months of consistent and healthy weight loss are still unreasonably consumed by feelings of self-loathing for a body I desperately want to muscle into submission.

Weight is something I’ve struggled with for as long as I can remember.

Thinner richard bachman first edition