I just enjoyed a city break to Budapest. It was fantastic; great sights, great bars, great beers. I recommend it. But for my two nights in Hungary I was dogged by a monster, a monster that stalked me, never farther away than the snatch of its claw. It got its teeth into me while I waited for my flight at Gatwick Airport and wouldn’t let go until I defeated it. The monster’s name was Cujo. The reason it gripped was due to Stephen King’s writing style
Cujo is Stephen King’s seventh novel. Ostensibly, it’s about a good-natured St Bernard, the titular Cujo, that is infected by the scratch of a rabid bat. But it’s also about the two families that Cuje’s violent, rabid spree affects. It’s gripping; as gripping as anything King has written. I could barely put it down, even with all the excitement of my holiday. I finished it after my first night in Hungary.
