Written in the first-person, through the perspective of a minor demon trapped within the book’s page (or actually constituting the book itself), Mister B. Gone has a plot with all the qualities, in writing, of an enjoyable B-movie. Hard to put to down, certainly, though the take-away isn’t so much one of gobsmacking but of amusement. The demon in question, Mister B, is Jakabok Botch, a mostly likeable fellow who pleads from his pages for readers to burn the book before something horrible happens – a grisly death or, worse, unwanted knowledge. As incentive, and to satisfy the insatiable curiosity that makes readers keep turning pages no matter the bribes or threats, Jakabok reluctantly shares the details of his life. He begins with the abuse he suffered at the hands of his violent father – domestic violence in a demon household! – continues with tales of his travels around the earth with a powerful demon for whom he has strong feelings (hint, hint), and wraps things up with his eventual fate between the pages of a book.

It’s a terminally cute concept, of course, to address the reader directly; it does wear out its welcome on occasion. But for the most part Barker knows when to simply stick with Jakabok’s telling of his life story. With all the hokeyness – tongue-in-cheek, really – he plays with elements of horror’s pop-culture to give the book the unmistakable tone of a campfire tale not to be taken too seriously.

First, there’s the demon stereotyping, balanced by the need to avoid a dislikable protagonist. Barker indulges the demon-y bits through Jakabok’s occasional attempts at evil, but never taxes reader tolerance by letting the character stray too far from sympathy. The demon-y bits actually come across as silly dark-ish humor rather than anything truly horrific; Mister B’s a demon – of course he enjoys a dip in a tub full of babies’ blood. What would you expect a demon to bathe in?

Second is the use of familiar concepts that move the story along but don’t ask readers to extend themselves. The pop-theology of a battle between heaven and hell, in which angels and demons are warriors mostly indifferent to humanity’s wellbeing, is mythological déja vu. (Theodicy, typically, doesn’t get any attention at all.) There’s simply no surprise to the book’s universe.

Then, of course, there’s the shock ending, the final revelation ostensibly aimed at making readers cower under bedcovers. Interestingly, it’s not a visceral ending. In keeping with a refreshing restraint on gory violence, the climax of the book isn’t the apocalypse but is aimed, instead, at offering a theological, somewhat more cerebral chill... only, the shock value of redefining readers’ worldview is entirely dependent on readers having the right kind of worldview in the first place. A familiarity with the problem of theodicy in religion, not to mention a rejection of Sunday School religion, can make Barker’s big surprise comes across as a rather obvious joke, no matter how horrified Jakabok Botch himself is.

All in all, however, the book’s shortcomings don’t detract from the entertainment value. When in the mood for some light-hearted entertainment, a B-novel like Mister B. Gone may be just the thing.