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45 pages 1 hour read

Stephen King

Cujo

Fiction | Novel | Adult | Published in 1981

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Themes

Interrogating the Monstrous

A major function of King’s novel is to interrogate what a monster truly is. While the dog Cujo becomes the central monster in the book (because he has contracted rabies), various monsters exist within its pages: Frank Dodd, abusive men like Joe Camber and Steve Kemp, the monster in Tad’s closet, and even Donna when she brutally kills Cujo. The monstrous in Cujo thus inhabits many forms and occupies many spaces. Monsters straddle naturality and supernaturality throughout the novel. King never definitively describes the link between Frank Dodd, Tadd’s haunted closet, and Cujo but suggests that a supernatural force is at work in the plotline. However, in plotlines like Charity’s struggle to live under the unbearable control of her husband, King emphasizes that monsters exist in our everyday lives as well. By demonstrating the full range of the monstrous, King uses Cujo to show what monsters are, what roles they play in society (both fictional and real), and what they can tell us about ourselves.

In interrogating what constitutes a monster, King allows multiple manifestations of the monstrous throughout the novel. His opening pages on Frank Dodd’s murders and death by suicide immediately establish the mutable form of the monster as an important element in the story: “The monster was gone, the monster was dead. Frank Dodd moldered inside his coffin. Except that the monster never dies. […] It came to Castle Rock again in the summer of 1980” (4). The eerie effect of these words lies in their conception of the monstrous: They convey the monster as something that can inhabit multiple forms, moving within our reality as it pleases. While the human Frank Dodd has died, the monstrous spirit lives on, raising the question of whether the monster can ever be defeated. However, this quote also indicates that the very concept of the monstrous—what constitutes a monster, where the origins of the monstrous reside, etc.—is beyond human understanding. Here, the monster and its arrival links with another theme in Cujo concerning fate. Fate, like the monstrous, operates in ways beyond human comprehension. In Cujo, both fate and the monstrous cruelly arrive in unsuspecting individuals’ lives at the worst times. As the quote about Frank Dodd suggests, the arrival of the monster is in itself an arm of fate. The monstrous form can be killed, but the monstrous itself will never die; it will arrive again and again, as fate dictates. Cujo himself represents this aspect of the novel’s theme.

Of the various monstrous forms that appear in Cujo, the most transgressive is Donna Trenton. While Cujo represents the intersections of the monstrous and fate, and abusive men like Steve Kemp and Joe Camber represent the human, “everyday” monsters we live with, Donna represents a particularly radical idea: the monstrous feminine entity. The monster inhabits Donna through a specifically gendered lens, different from the novel’s other male monsters. She becomes so monstrous during her killing of Cujo that her husband almost doesn’t recognize her: When Vic witnesses Donna’s bloody beating of Cujo, he feels “an impulse to throw the Jag in reverse and drive away […] to drive forever” because “[w]hat was going on in this still and sunny dooryard was monstrous” (289). King’s articulation of the monster through Donna is transgressive (and even progressive) because female characters are rarely afforded the agency in fiction to express rage and uncontrollable grief or (most important to the horror genre) to kill. Donna’s transformation is especially unusual given that the novel was published in 1981, a time of limited female representation in media. Donna’s brutality toward Cujo and her wild, untamed physicality during the killing are characteristics typically reserved for male monsters. In imbuing a female with these classically masculine acts and emotions, King challenges predominant notions of what monsters are and what function they serve in society. Through Donna’s killing of Cujo for survival, King asks whether a monster can serve a just end. In incorporating humanized monsters alongside the darker forces that control Frank Dodd and Cujo, King emphasizes the parallels between supernatural beasts and the “routinely” monstrous. As such, this theme proposes that the monstrous is an element of the universe.

The Inevitable Fall of Innocence

Innocence, trying to protect it, and its ultimate fall occupies a major thematic space in Cujo. Virtually all the plotlines incorporate this theme, including Donna trying to save Tad, Charity trying to protect Brett, and Vic trying to salvage the beliefs of Sharp Cereals customers that “nothing [is] wrong here” (27). Cujo’s character arc follows a fall of innocence, as a sweet dog becomes prey to a dark fate that steals his agency. This theme is a tragic element in King’s novel, as all of these storylines end with the adults failing to protect the innocence that they so cherish in the younger generations (or their beloved pets). This theme, however, is the novel’s most dramatically resonant, as the tragedies of Donna, Charity, and Cujo alike provide lessons, including one of the most difficult lessons of all: that our wondrous, childlike innocence inevitably ends.

King expresses this theme both implicitly and explicitly. Its implicit forms are Cujo and the Sharp Cereals subplot. Cujo’s entire character arc represents the fall of innocence. An “old fashioned, dyed-in-the-wool good [dog]” (35) morphs into a murderous creature with no regard for anyone, including his owner. King emphasizes the tragedy of this innocent animal’s fall from grace through Cujo’s inner narration, which is almost childlike in its worldview. For example, when Cujo contracts rabies, his first thought is to be guilty because he believes he has been a “BADDOG” (21). Horror resides merely in the inner thoughts of an innocent creature becoming monstrous. Another implicit articulation of the fall of innocence is through Sharp Cereals. The Cereal Professor exudes comic tragedy in promising children every day on television that nothing is wrong while the media reports on numerous children in the ER after eating the cereal. While Vic, Roger, and Sharp Cereals attempt to convince middle-class citizens that an innocent, rosy lifestyle can be perpetual, the reality of life confronts all parties because of a faulty batch of Raspberry Zinger cereal dye; even though it proves a harmless error, it causes a scare.

Explicit articulations of the loss of innocence are evident as parents Vic and Donna Trenton and Charity Camber try throughout the novel to protect their children from evil and harm, whether physical, mental, or emotional. Ultimately, their gargantuan efforts are in vain. Vic’s Monster Words intrinsically link to this theme as a physical representation of the futility of protecting innocence. Tad takes Vic’s Monster Words with him to the Camber yard, believing that they’ll protect him from the foreboding feeling he has, just as his father promised. One of the novel’s most harrowing scenes is when Vic finds his protective poem under Tad’s seat after he has died. Vic destroys the Monster Words when he finds them: “The paper was a sentimental lie, its sentiments as inconstant as the color in that stupid runny-dyed cereal. It was all a lie” (295). In this quote, King draws a direct correlation between the cereal and the Monster Words, emphasizing their dual thematic weight. Tad’s tragic death at the end of Cujo is the novel’s most potent reminder that no matter how powerful the effort to protect innocence, the world’s cruel realities will dismantle it one way or another.

Negotiations of Fate and Free Will

A cornerstone of Cujo is the question of fate. The novel can be read as a fabulist work, a tale spun to caution readers that the universe works in mysterious, unexplainable ways. The dark, senseless destinies that await Cujo and Tad represent such expressions of fate. However, the novel explores the concept of free will with equal weight. Characters confront life-changing decisions at every turn. For example, Vic must contemplate leaving his wife and child; Charity wrestles with whether to stay in an abusive marriage and with the impact of her decision on her son’s life; and Donna must weigh her options for dealing with Cujo. At the heart of Cujo thus lies the negotiation of fate and free will. Neither force fully controls any event in the story, and the balance constantly changes: For every willful decision a human makes, the universe delivers an act, coincidence, or circumstance of its own. The novel is less about determining whether fate or free will is more powerful and more about the essence of exerting free will within the limitations of forces that one can’t control. The story thus conveys the pain, loss, hope, and love inherent in negotiations of fate and free will.

The novel creates dramatic effect through its many frightening instances of intertwined fates and inevitable ends. King’s narrative incites dread as it reveals how characters’ decisions impact others and engage with the horrific events. Joe Camber’s decision to halt his mail dooms Tad Trenton, while young Brett’s eagerness to go on vacation with his mother and temporarily ignore his ill dog ends numerous lives. However, Cujo himself is the element of King’s novel that best encapsulates the cruelty of fate—and how it saps power from those in its grasp. King suggests several times throughout the novel that Donna and Cujo were fated to meet. While Donna tries to reject this idea, she can’t shake the feeling that Cujo watches her with an intelligence beyond that of a typical dog. To Donna, Cujo seems unnaturally driven, as if by an external force outside the realm of understanding. King reaffirms this suspicion at the novel’s end. In his final description of Cujo, King emphasizes the dog’s kind, generous spirit, making it clear that Cujo’s killing streak wasn’t his fault: “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” (303). Although King’s clever narration leaves room for interpretation as to whether a ubiquitous fate really exists, he’s explicit about one detail: Cujo’s lack of free will. Regardless of how one decides to interpret fate’s existence in or outside of this novel, Cujo’s character arc encompasses the random, cruel paths that life sometimes forces us down.

If Cujo’s character arc represents fate, then characters such as Vic, Charity, and Donna are the novel’s counteractive expressions of free will. While all suffer at the hand of fate, they don’t let their pain control the trajectory of their lives. Instead of fearing uncontrollable elements in their lives, the Cambers and the Trentons embrace the future with optimism and boldly confront their challenges. Charity and Brett, for instance, are willing to live on a strict budget to remain on their old property, while the Trentons take a day-by-day approach: “It was not much better by the end of August, nor in September, but by the time the leaves had turned and begun to fall, it was a little better. A little” (301). Both the Trentons and Cambers refuse to give up and choose to cling to positive forces of hope and love in each other to heal from the traumatic events in their past. The two families thus represent an assertion of human agency in the face of immovable fate. King purposely ends his novel on these two families’ decisions to move forward. In the thematic negotiation of fate and free will, King concludes by observing that the essence of being human is embracing one’s agency in the face of fate—in moving ahead together despite knowing that the future holds unknown elements.

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