2021 Update
Cujo remains an absolute masterpiece. Stephen King was truly at his prime when he wrote this novel, and it is far more than just a horror story about a rabid dog. The way he crafts the narrative and develops the characters is simply outstanding.
2015 Review
Among Stephen King's extensive body of work, Cujo is perhaps the most challenging novel for me to read. Make no mistake, it is exceptionally well-written. The prose is not only gorgeous but also among King's most direct and poetic. However, the overall tone of the novel is incredibly bleak. There seems to be no glimmer of hope in the tunnel. Instead, it feels like King is simply shrugging his shoulders and saying, "stuff happens." Similar to Roadwork before it, Cujo's gritty realism can produce fascinating results, but the journey is undeniably gut-wrenching.
What makes Cujo so captivating within the context of King's entire oeuvre is that it is his first novel to rely almost entirely (or at least mostly) on humanistic elements to create horror. While there are hints of the supernatural, this novel is firmly grounded in real life. The events that unfold in the story could actually happen, which is what makes it so effective. The horror feels completely believable. Before Cujo (excluding the Bachman books), there was always a supernatural element at the forefront of every King novel, such as ghosts, vampires, or psychic abilities. These elements were not the only ones in the respective novels, but they were crucial in driving the narratives forward. Without them, those novels would not be what they are. With Cujo, King took a risk by deviating from what his fans had come to expect, and it paid off. With this novel and the collection of novellas Different Seasons that followed in 1982, Stephen King proved that he was unafraid to experiment and publish books that didn't conform to the expected norms. With subsequent works like Joyland, 11/22/63, and the Bill Hodges trilogy, King continues to show that he is not afraid to break the rules and keep throwing curve-balls at his readers. And for that, I applaud him.
One common criticism I often hear about Cujo is the prevalence of coincidences and their seemingly unrealistic nature. This novel indeed progresses almost entirely based on coincidences. I'll do my best to avoid spoilers for those who haven't read the novel yet, but suffice it to say that this book serves as a commentary on the rather cruel indifference of fate. Horror emerges from the ordinary; because all of the main characters happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, the events of the novel are able to unfold. Some readers find this frustrating, arguing that it's almost as if the author is moving the characters around like chess pieces, and that's a valid point. I can understand where they're coming from. However, it all works for me. I believe King is fully aware of the mechanical nature of how he moves the characters. In fact, I think that's the whole point. He wants the reader to experience the same frustration and exasperation as the characters in the novel. Charity Camber is frustrated with her life choices and her son's idolization of his lousy father; Vic Trenton is frustrated by the problems plaguing his ad company and his wife's recent affair; Steve Kemp is frustrated that Donna has ended their affair; and Donna Trenton is frustrated with growing older and feeling that her life is going nowhere. The characters are all frustrated by simple fate, and I think King wanted the reader to share, at least to some extent, in their pain. Heck, the seemingly "conspiratorial" coincidences are even mentioned more than once by a couple of the characters at different points in the narrative. So, yes, I believe King was fully intentional in the seemingly mechanical (or forced, if you prefer) way the plot is advanced.
Another criticism I often encounter regarding this novel is the level of detail given to the subplots, especially the one involving Charity and Brett's trip to Connecticut. I, however, have never minded the subplots. In fact, I think the deviation from the main storyline (a mother and son trapped in a Pinto by a rabid Cujo) actually makes the pages spent in the Cambers' dooryard even more horrific. The characters in this novel are so fascinating that I could easily have read another 100 pages about each of them. I don't view the subplots as King's attempt to pad the page count but rather as a means of fully exploring these characters he has brought to life. If they weren't interesting, I might have complained and perhaps even deducted a star, but as it is, I always enjoy the excursions away from the sweltering Pinto, if only because they offer a brief respite.
In case you haven't already gathered, Cujo is a dark and grim novel. I truly believe King was aiming for the jugular with this one, and he achieved his goal. It's one of the few novels by the Maine author that tie my stomach in knots and leave me unsure if I'll be able to finish it. It's a terrifying novel, but the scares are entirely realistic; they could happen to any of us. Cujo marks the official start of what I consider to be King's darkest period, which includes works such as "Apt Pupil", Christine, Pet Sematary, IT, The Tommyknockers, The Dark Half, and Needful Things. During this period, King will explore themes he has never touched on before and revisit those he has previously explored, offering his final thoughts on them. He will reach the peak of his cocaine and alcohol addictions and then quit cold turkey, resulting in some of his most fascinating and yet most depressing works. However, I don't think any of them quite reach the level of bleakness found in Cujo... but only time will tell.
King connections: This novel is set in Castle Rock, Maine, the same location as his previous novel The Dead Zone. Several characters from that book make appearances here, either physically or through mention, such as Sheriff Bannerman, Johnny Smith, and Frank Dodd.
Favorite quote: “It would perhaps not be amiss to point out that he had always tried to be a good dog. He had tried to do all the things his MAN and his WOMAN, and most of all his BOY, had asked or expected of him. He would have died for them, if that had been required. He had never wanted to kill anybody. He had been struck by something, possibly destiny, or fate, or only a degenerative nerve disease called rabies. Free will was not a factor.”
Up next: We're running for our lives (I'm just going by the book's tag-line here; I have no clue what this one's about.) -- it's The Running Man!