Peter Straub has fun with his evocation of the in-fighting and back-biting of the literary world of the late 1930s in a plot that roots present Evil in a big Something that happened way back then. Fine writing in the opening, evocative sections of the book really sets up the reader for something rich and mysterious. Which never quite arrives, unfortunately.
The market-required mega-length of these doorstop thrillers (this one clocks in at just under 600 pages)works against any sense of unescapable intimacy that the story sorely needs. The characters- some of whom are very well wrought- suffer from the overarching requirement that they ultimately must act as little more than plot-delivery devices. That same reduction prevents most of the characters from rising above being mere "types", forced to go wherever the Big Reveal demands, so the novel is ultimately a very skilful exercise in arranging the usual generic elements to achieve very familiar ends. The "star" of the book, the serial killer Dick Dart, stops the book dead whenever he appears. He's a tedious, obsolete variation on the "charming" psychopath (if "The Hellfire Club" ever gets made into a movie, the part will almost certainly be offered to Johnny Depp or Robert Downey jr.)who never really belongs in the story for any reason other than a splash of blood-drenched fireworks every hundred pages or so.
Overall, Peter Straub's skill as a professional writer of giant horror paperbacks is never in doubt. As weak as the book is, as much as the elements never click, this is still a lot better than the average of its type. Straub is no Stephen King imitator- the roots of his storytelling are clearly writers like Dickens and Wilkie Collins. But mashing this influence together with the requirements of the contemporary market for horror blockbusters does his skill no favours. This is the first of his books I've read. I'd certainly read another.