Christine
Christine
by Stephen King
Is there really any other way to begin this book review thread than with a King novel? Yeah, you’re right — I didn’t think so either. Let’s dive into this book.
While it seems everyone knows the premise of the story (thanks to John Carpenter – I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve seen the movie and listened to the soundtrack), it’s difficult to find people who have much to say about Stephen King’s novel, Christine. Especially Stephen King, and that’s wild to me because there is a great deal (I think) to be said about Christine as a novel.
Probably one of the only analyses that stands out the most about this book was a blog post my Writer’s Mind professor assigned our class to read during undergrad. Essentially, the theme of that post (which actually wasn’t entirely dedicated to Christine alone – it attempted to identify a common thematic thread present in Carrie, as well) boiled it all down to the phrase, “hurt people hurt people.” Meaning that the entirety of the novel (Christine’s possession and blood-lust, the anger in Arnie Cunningham and Roland Lebay, and the popularity cliques of high school) was all in support of a common theme that hurt/betrayed/bullied people are often pushed to the point where they explode and, ultimately, hurt other people when they lash out.
I recall back then our professor pausing class and asking us to think about what we thought about it. Well…approximately 5 years and a lot of reading later, I call bullshit on that post.
You see, Christine is intriguing from a craft standpoint because, on the surface, it *seems* like an open and shut case of a bright young high school student who is bullied to the point of his anger hurting other people, and don’t get me wrong – there are a handful of fantastic pieces of textual evidence to support that finding. But, that’s where it ends.
The deeper theme at work under the surface, which there are a greater number of pieces of textual evidence to support, is the theme of addiction – specifically how addiction ensnares us when we allow our vices to get out of control and ultimately what happens not only to us but to everyone around us). We’ll start this examination by thinking about the setting—Libertyville, Pennsylvania.
This is no accident; King makes a specific choice of using “liberty” in the fictional town’s name to show the reader that our vices are what liberate us. We start as teenagers trying to figure our lives out, and we seek things to pass the time we equate with our own liberation into adulthood (alcohol, sex, drugs, cars, etc.). And when we indulge in these vices, we find freedom and relaxation from our day to day lives. But perhaps an even greater support of this theme is the specific choice King makes when it comes to how the story is told. Instead of going for his typical third-person style, King branches out by telling 2/3 of the story from the perspective of the best friend.
Why would he do this? The answer is that by doing so, King allows a safe enough distance between the reader and the subject of the piece that they may see the full scope of everything going on.
From this semi-removed distance, King grants his reader the opportunity to see how addiction slowly changes those we love most and ultimately affects those around them. And to show us that we can’t always save others—that we can save ourselves. I think it’s safe to say that almost all of us have had that friend or loved one at one point or another who got just a little too heavy into something – a car, a girlfriend/boyfriend, drinking, drugs, gambling, spending, etc. And we’ve all been in that situation of being powerless to watch them as they fall in just a little too deep. We wish we could save them; hell, I’m sure we all tried to save them, only to learn that it’s not our war to fight. That all we can do is save ourselves and hope they’ll want to do the same for themselves. Through the lens of Dennis Guilder (and even a tiny bit of Leigh Cabot), King shows us that we can talk and try to reason as much as possible. But there are no guarantees our words will sink in.
I have noticed multiple textual examples regarding the theme of addiction, specifically in reference to characters who have known someone who had a vice that got just a little out of hand. With this kind of layered thematic pattern, whether King realized it or not while writing it, he was crafting a 471-page metaphor. And he portrays this so honestly because addiction is not necessarily portrayed throughout the novel as the sole problem.
Working in mental health, I would say one of the common misconceptions is that addiction is the “big issue” or the focus of treatment. In reality, addiction is the roadblock on the path to treatment. Yes, the DSM-V still classifies addiction an official diagnosis, but as a colleague of mine (who actually wrote a graduate paper on addiction treatment) explained,
addiction is never about going overboard. It’s about finding equilibrium for the addicted person.
She explained that you can actually almost pinpoint a diagnosis based on what drug of choice the patient is abusing. For example, you’ll never see an anxious person addicted to cocaine; that kind of heightened energy would only explode with the kind of high cocaine would provide. In this sense, the addiction is what clouds the underlying issue and serves as a self-medication for the addicted. This directly relates to King’s work because King (quite beautifully) portrays hurt, anger, and depression as the larger issues fueling the fires of the conflict.
Multiple times, his characters refer to good people who just got in a little too heavy and experienced difficulties in finding their way back. They even refer to people who have to save themselves, which make King’s choice in climax and ending a beautiful fit to a beautiful metaphorical tale (I do not want to give it away – read it for yourself). The overall outcome is that Christine reads as a novel with little to no excess (although the thread with Darnell in the middle read like a bad after school special). It’s both a deep character study and a horror novel rolled into one with fully fleshed out characters that move the reader the more they see of them (I actually liked Dennis a lot more than I could have if King had chosen third-person).
Written in the classic King style, King lays the truth out in a way that resonates with the reader, never hesitating to call a spade a spade when it comes to human nature. Almost as if it was a subconscious cry out for help with his own addiction (this was written in the midst of his cocaine addiction, after all), as he goes directly for the heart (or the ignition in this case). Intermixed with some imaginative death scenes and an exciting showdown not even John Carpenter could powerfully translate to the screen, I really feel this novel is truly special and worthy of greater praise. I would recommend it to anyone who is looking to understand how addiction works or anyone who is just looking for a well-crafted horror novel.