Rage

Rage tells the story of Charlie Decker, a senior at a small Maine high school. Charlie is looking out the window of his algebra class on a sweltering summer day when he’s called in to see the principal. It seems that two months prior Charlie hospitalized one of his teachers by striking him with a pipe wrench. The man was on the operating table for four hours.

The principal wants to talk to Charlie. He wants to understand what drove Charlie’s attack. Charlie doesn’t want to talk. Charlie is past talking. He’s full of bile. He insults the principal, earning himself an expulsion. The principal orders Charlie out of the office. Charlie goads the principal into attacking him in front of the administrative staff.

Charlie leaves the office. He goes to his locker and retrieves his father’s pistol. He puts his locker padlock in his shirt pocket and sets the locker on fire. Charlie then returns to his algebra class and shoots his teacher dead. The fire alarm goes off. Another teacher arrives. Charlie kills him too.

Charlie holds his class hostage. Law enforcement and media arrive. They attempt to negotiate, but Charlie doesn’t want to negotiate. He’s getting it on. Charlie forces the class to open up about their frustrations and insecurities. They do so without much prodding. All except one.

Ted Jones despises Charlie. Ted despises the class for going along with Charlie. But the class begins to despise Ted. They resent him for not sharing. They see him as an embodiment of the institutions Charlie is raging against. Ted challenges Charlie and attempts to leave. The class rises up and beats Ted into a catatonic state.

Charlie releases the rest of the class, then attempts to get himself killed by the police. He’s saved when his locker padlock stops the cop’s bullet.

I first read Rage during my early teen years. I remember identifying with the themes of adolescent angst and alienation. The story plays like something of an earlier (and much darker) version of The Breakfast Club. Like the film, King posits that by verbalizing their demons, the teens can confront and move past them.

Reading it now, the pop-psychology and instant Stockholm syndrome feel contrived. The angst and alienation that resonated with my teenage self now felt pompous. I suppose that’s a good thing. King has since taken the novel out of print, after several shootings by teens who’d read and re-read the novel.