I've read a lot of Stephen King over the years. I've kept up with most of his recent releases, many of which, oddly enough, I'd argue don't even fall into the horror genre. And plenty of his classics, too. Pet Sematary. 'Salem's Lot. Cujo. You get the idea.
But somehow, I'd never read the book that started it all.
I didn't actually realize that until I was watching a show on Amazon Prime and an ad came on. Seriously, why do we have ads on a service we pay for? But I digress.
The ad was a trailer for a new series adaptation of King's classic novel Carrie. As I watched, it hit me. Here's one of the foundational novels from one of horror's most famous authors, a book that launched a career that's been scaring the heck out of readers for more than five decades, and I'd never actually read it.
With spooky season upon us, it seemed like the perfect time to finally rectify that oversight.
King tells the story of Carrie White, a high school student who's spent most of her life being made to feel like she doesn't belong. She's an outcast at school, with no real friends or social life. Home isn't much better. She lives with her mother, Margaret, a religious fanatic whose extreme beliefs have robbed Carrie of any chance at a normal childhood.
When we meet Carrie, she's experiencing her first menstrual cycle in the gym showers. She has no idea what's happening. Her mother, of course, never bothered to explain any of this, and Carrie's classmates seize on her fear and confusion as another opportunity to torment her. A well-meaning gym teacher eventually comes to her rescue, but the humiliation has already done its damage.
There's something else about Carrie that none of them understand.
She can move things. With her mind.
It's an ability she's only beginning to understand herself. And when a rare act of kindness offers Carrie the possibility of finally being accepted, she lets herself believe things could be different.
But that kindness is about to be overshadowed by unimaginable cruelty. And when it is, all those years of humiliation, isolation, and abuse finally reach a breaking point.
It's easy to see why Carrie became the launching point for King's illustrious career. The complexity and precision of this first novel actually surprised me a bit. King shifts between perspectives and peppers the story with excerpts from an academic study of the incident, a book written by one of the survivors, and other accounts that gradually reveal the full scope of what happened. For an author who famously claims to write without a clear outline or plan, that's all the more impressive.
“I bet none of them understand what it’s like to be Carrie White, every second of every day.”
King captures Carrie's loneliness and the sheer cruelty she experiences in a way that hits like a gut punch. Even knowing where her story was headed, I couldn't help but feel for her. She's lonely, embarrassed, desperate to fit in, and constantly being beaten down by the people around her. King makes all of that feel painfully real.
Sure, the telekinesis and pseudoscience used to explain it are the mechanics that drive the action, but it's the emotional pull of the story and the complex, fully realized characters at its center that stuck with me. I've always argued that King succeeds because he writes fascinating characters dealing with extraordinary situations, not because of the terror itself. Reading his very first novel, I was pleased to discover that talent was there from the beginning.
So, I guess I have an annoying Amazon Prime ad to thank for finally getting me to read Carrie. I'm glad I did. More than fifty years after the novel introduced readers to Stephen King, I found all the things I've come to love about his writing already there.
For more information, visit the author's website, Amazon, and Goodreads.
(2026, 84)
