Finished reading Duma Key, by Stephen King a few days back, and I meant to come and tell you all about it, but then I got swamped by the weekend. Really…just once I’d like to take by the collar all those people who think homeschoolers have no social life and drag them along on a typical weekend with us. The past 3 days have just been a whirlwind of social activities and obligations. Fun? Yes. But exhausting, too.
Ah, life is good, though. Especially when you no longer have a pile of dishes waiting to be washed by hand when you come through the door after a full day of HANGING OUT WITH OTHER PEOPLE. (Yep, it’s really true. We actually have friends. And we’re homeschoolers. Scary, isn’t it?)
But, Duma Key. I want to tell you how much I enjoyed this book. Yes, I know. It’s Stephen King. But he’s won the O’Henry award and been given some other award I forget the name of for his Distinguished Contribution to American Literature or something like that, so you’d think it’d be okay now, to admit the one actually reads and enjoys this man’s writing. Sort of like how Galileo had all those theories about the earth revolving around the sun and all those church leaders had him excommunicated and then beheaded or something, but then a thousand years later they realized he was right all along, so they pardoned him. Not that he was alive to enjoy his pardon or anything, but it’s the thought that counts, right?
Right. Anyway…on to Duma Key.
It’s the story of a man named Edgar Freemantle, a construction business owner who survives a horrible accident (the kind that no one really has the right to actually walk away from) and then how he moves to a new place to start a new life as an artist. Does he run into some sort of monster there? Well, gee. It’s a Stephen King novel. What do you think?
So, that’s what it’s about. Basically. But really, what it’s really about is: memory. In all its guises.
Not only does Edgar struggle with remembering basic things due to his brain injury, but he also is remembering what it’s like to be an artist. How many of us have been in that moment when we take up again an old artistic hobby we once loved as a child and remembered back that ability? If you haven’t yet done that, trust me…chances are you will. And the following passage might just describe perfectly what it feels like:
I remember my concentration being fined down to a brilliant cone, the way it sometimes was in the early days of my business, when every building (every bid, really) was make or break. I remember clamping a pencil in my mouth once again at some point, so I could scratch at the arm that wasn’t there; I was always forgetting the lost part of me. When distracted and carrying something in my left hand, I sometimes reached out with my right one to open a door. Amputees forget, that’s all. Their minds forget and as they heal, their bodies let them.
What I mostly remember about that evening is the wonderful, blissful sensation of having caught an actual bolt of lightning in a bottle for three or four minutes. (p. 58)
By the end of the story, not only has Edgar remembered his art back into existence, he’s also learned more about the power of memory than he ever wanted to know:
On some level, unless we’re mad, I think most of us know the various voices of our own imaginations.
And of our memories, of course. They have voices, too. Ask anyone who has ever lost a limb or a child or a long-cherished dream. Ask anyone who blames himself for a bad decision, usually made in a raw instant (an instant that is most commonly red). Our memories have voices, too. Often sad ones that clamor like raised arms in the dark. (p. 595)
So, Edgar draws, and Edgar paints, and Edgar remembers. And sometimes it’s good and sometimes it’s horrifying. But in the end, he heals his body, his brain, and his memory.
Read this. Pretend it’s not Stephen King, if you have to. Because there’s stuff to learn in this one. Stuff you used to know, deep in your best childhood heart. Stuff you’ve only forgotten.
Read this. And remember.
I love Stephen King’s older novels. The newer ones… meh.
I’ve read some of them to the fall-apart stage and replaced The Stand three times.
I will probably read the new one when my good friend Tami is finished with it.
This weekend I exhumed my old canon camera from 1986 that shoots real film. And I loaded it with black and white and I’ve spent the days since looking at life like a photographer. Like an artist. It helps me feel like I can breath again. It helps me feel like a hopeful person again. It gives me back a part I didn’t know was missing. It puts hopeful anticipation back into my day. It rocks. And I don’t even care how the pictures turn out. Maybe they will suck? Who cares.
Is that what you’re talking about? I want to read that book. Thanks!
Katherine — Yes. That sounds about right.
Glad to hear you found that camera.
Ami, yeah, I know what you mean about the older stuff compared to the newer stuff. But I keep on reading ‘em. Oh hell, I read just about everything anyway.
I LOVE Stephen King. I almost picked this book up the other day at Costco. Now I’ll have to get it at Costco.
I love Shawshank Redemption, the novella. That glimmer of amazing writing keeps me hopeful about all other SK novels.
I will look for this one.
Mama Podkayne,
Yes, I know exactly what you’re saying about Shawshank. That was some of his best writing, if you ask me. Glad you stopped by. Keep on reading.
Amy, yes, you must get this one soon.
I just saw Stephen King on the Today Show yesterday morning talking about this book. Truly a strange guy, really, but a fantastic author. I love the way he talks about his books, as if they’re their own entity and he’s just the liaison or something. “I have a fondness for this one,” he said, “I’ve spent a lot of time with it.”