I haven't read a Stephen King book in several years. I think the last one that I started and finished was 11/22/63. I really liked it, but others that I tried after that I just couldn't get into. I only read Mr. Mercedes because it won the Edgar Award, and I wanted to find out if Stephen King could write a good mystery. The jury is still out. It wasn't a mystery, and I have no idea why it won the Edgar Award. It in no way measures up to James Lee Burke, Ian Rankin, Michael Connelly, or even John D. MacDonald, let alone Dashiell Hammet or Agatha Christie. So, how was it other than that? Not bad, but it suffers from the same things that almost all of Stephen King's book suffer from in the past twenty years, he still talks too much.
King can't seem to just write a book without filling it with time consuming, non-sensical, monotonous dribble. He goes on and on with added detail that offer nothing to the total experience of reading a good book. Mr. Mercedes is a 436 page novel that could easily have been told in 300 pages and not lost a thing. Much of this book is foul language for the sake of foul language, as if it adds anything, which it seldom does. His once wonderful ability to write an enthralling novel seems to now balance on whether or not he gets to over use the f-word, the n-word, and the c-word. C'mon, Stephen, why can't you just tell the story for once? Mr. Mercedes is a good story, but you just talk too much.