This is purely my opinion, but I've seen it happen time and time again. Teachers assign a book that, if read independently, would be extremely thrilling. Students read said book, and quickly grow to despise everything it stands for. The meaning of books is lost when a study guide is attached to them. Literary analyses can only get you so far when trying to understand a book. It's a matter of whether or not you felt the message in your soul.
For Cujo, I felt it. My second Stephen King novel, Cujo didn't feel like a chore. I found myself enjoying it, picking it up and reading a couple of chapters because I wanted to. And that, my friends, is unheard of in the realm of assigned readings.
Firstly, King taught me that the main conflict of a story doesn't have to be evident right away. Up until the part where Donna and Tad Trenton are stuck in the car with a rabid dog blocking their escape, I wasn't sure what the main conflict was. Like a wall hanging, King created many threads for the story to branch off into. On one thread, Vic and Donna are trying to fix their failing marriage, and they both have to work through what happens when a spouse is unfaithful. On another, Vic is in a whirlwind of parental discontent with the Sharp cereal brand, because the dyes used in the cereals are harming their children. On a completely different tapestry entirely, Charity and Joe Camber are disagreeing over how to raise their son, Brett, who is concerned only for his dog, Cujo.
Secondly, King tells his story in different narratives, effortlessly giving each character their own voice. When Donna is narrating the story, she is sad, confused, and embarrassed, and that shines through in her narration. Her husband, Vic, is sad as well, but is also juggling his failing cereal company, adding tension to the narrative. What is really amazing, however, is how King manages to narrative from the point of view of a four-year old boy and a dog. The second chapter is from Tad's perspective, and King writes that "he urinated forever." Indeed, a four-year old would think that going to the restroom in the middle of the night would take forever. Donna or Vic would never have said something like that, and that shows the uniqueness of each character's narration.
Finally, King ends his novels much like I do: openly and with very little true closure. After Cujo is killed and his reign of terror ends, Donna and Vic are given the option to rekindle their love and fix their marriage. King gives both his characters and his readers the decision. merely saying that "by the time the leaves had turned and began to fall, it was a little better. A little." Similarly, Brett Camber gets a new dog, even though Cujo is still fresh in his mind. He names him Willie, and the first thing he asks his mother is if the little puppy has had his rabies shots. There is even a slight bit of closure for poor Cujo, who "had always tried to be a good dog" and had nearly done just that, until "a degenerative disease called rabies" made him wild.
For Cujo, I felt it. My second Stephen King novel, Cujo didn't feel like a chore. I found myself enjoying it, picking it up and reading a couple of chapters because I wanted to. And that, my friends, is unheard of in the realm of assigned readings.
Firstly, King taught me that the main conflict of a story doesn't have to be evident right away. Up until the part where Donna and Tad Trenton are stuck in the car with a rabid dog blocking their escape, I wasn't sure what the main conflict was. Like a wall hanging, King created many threads for the story to branch off into. On one thread, Vic and Donna are trying to fix their failing marriage, and they both have to work through what happens when a spouse is unfaithful. On another, Vic is in a whirlwind of parental discontent with the Sharp cereal brand, because the dyes used in the cereals are harming their children. On a completely different tapestry entirely, Charity and Joe Camber are disagreeing over how to raise their son, Brett, who is concerned only for his dog, Cujo.
Secondly, King tells his story in different narratives, effortlessly giving each character their own voice. When Donna is narrating the story, she is sad, confused, and embarrassed, and that shines through in her narration. Her husband, Vic, is sad as well, but is also juggling his failing cereal company, adding tension to the narrative. What is really amazing, however, is how King manages to narrative from the point of view of a four-year old boy and a dog. The second chapter is from Tad's perspective, and King writes that "he urinated forever." Indeed, a four-year old would think that going to the restroom in the middle of the night would take forever. Donna or Vic would never have said something like that, and that shows the uniqueness of each character's narration.
Finally, King ends his novels much like I do: openly and with very little true closure. After Cujo is killed and his reign of terror ends, Donna and Vic are given the option to rekindle their love and fix their marriage. King gives both his characters and his readers the decision. merely saying that "by the time the leaves had turned and began to fall, it was a little better. A little." Similarly, Brett Camber gets a new dog, even though Cujo is still fresh in his mind. He names him Willie, and the first thing he asks his mother is if the little puppy has had his rabies shots. There is even a slight bit of closure for poor Cujo, who "had always tried to be a good dog" and had nearly done just that, until "a degenerative disease called rabies" made him wild.