It is absolutely mind-boggling, looking at Stephen King’s bibliography.
Carrie (1974)
Salem’s Lot (1975)
The Shining (1977)
Rage (1977)
The Stand (1978)
The Long Walk (1979)
The Dead Zone (1979)
Firestarter (1980)
Danse Macabre (1981)
Roadwork (1981)
Cujo (1981)
The Running Man (1982)
Different Seasons (1982)
The Gunslinger (1982)
Christine (1983)
Pet Semetary (1983)
Cycle of the Werewolf (1983)
9 years. 14 novels. A nonfiction book and a collection of novellas. Almost every single one a hit, some of them are even classics. And he was just hitting his stride, as some of his best works hadn’t even been written yet. It, Misery, The Green Mile…Not to consider his hundreds of short stories and novellas. Stephen King is a legend for a reason.
Looking at the above list, it’s astounding how prolific and consistent he was. Sure, there are some books there that don’t really have the artistic heft of some of his more popular works – but there are fewer The Running Man‘s than there are Carrie‘s.
I don’t know if it’s possible to narrow down a time period as Stephen King’s “peak”, because it seems to start with Carrie in 1974 and end with….I have no idea. 1991, maybe, with Needful Things? Is it even possible to have a peak that lasts almost 20 years?
That’s ridiculous. There’s no one like Stephen King.
Anyway. I’ve never read Christine before, even though it’s in that sweet spot (weird as it is to say) when King was sunk deep into addiction and was barely remembering the books he was cranking out. According to the man himself, he was so high while writing Cujo that he barely even remembers it. I’ve had the book for over two decades, though. Just the idea of a teenager haunted by a demonic car seemed so….short story blown up into a novel that I never felt like reading it.
And, for what its worth, the parts of this novel about the car are probably the least interesting. King’s language around the car could be intoxicating (the engine “…revving and falling off…” was almost a mantra throughout the book), but I just don’t care about cars. The first car I bought myself was a 2004 Dodge Neon, and I currently drive a Hyundai Tuscan. I’m not a car guy. But the rock music and 50s nostalgia added nice flavor to the story, and King is always great when describing kids in a small town.
There is a weird and jarring switch between first and third person in the book, though. Most of the novel is told from the perspective of Dennis, the best friend of Arnie Cunningham – the one who actually gets possessed by the car. The middle third of the book, or thereabouts, sees Dennis laid up in a hospital following injuries sustained in a football game. So this whole section is in the third person – which’ll kind of give you whiplash if you aren’t prepared for it.
Overall, I found the book engaging and well-written. But the character of Arnie was so thoroughly unlikable that it was kind of hard to feel anything for his descent into obsession and alienation. But this brings us to what I think is the true horror of this novel: watching the self-destruction of a child from the perspective of a parent. Arnie’s parents get a lot of attention in this book. His mother, Regina, is strong-willed and controlling while his father, Michael, is passive and loving. They are both utterly distraught and helpless as Arnie throws away his life over the car. As a parent with a child fast approaching adolescence, I have a deep dread of what the future brings. You can only do so much to prepare your children for what life will throw at them, and there will inevitably be things you can’t have possibly prepare for, but you hope that you’ve imparted enough wisdom (and you’ll get lucky enough) to avoid some of the more serious potholes on their road through life.
Well, Regina and Michael didn’t (and weren’t). I hope demonic possession isn’t something I ever have to deal with – but watching the Cunningham’s wrestle with a child implode like Arnie does here was almost enough to keep me up at night.