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Unnatural Acts of Intercourse

http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,1704697,00.html

e per chi non vuol far fatica, ecco un copia & incolla dell'articolo:

---
For a time, it looked as if Stephen King would never reach retirement age.
Nine years ago, a pickup truck slammed into him on the side of a Maine road.
One of his legs shattered, a lung collapsed, several ribs broke and his hip
fractured. A few years later, after developing a severe case of pneumonia,
the king of chills decided to embrace warmth. "It's the law," he jokes from
his part-time home on the Gulf Coast. "You get a little bit older, and you
have to move to Florida." So, in one of the rare cliché moments of his life,
King, 60, and his wife Tabitha flew south for the winter.
Duma Key, his first novel set in Florida, inevitably followed. Named after a
fictional reef, it concerns Edgar Freemantle, a wealthy man who loses his
right arm in a construction accident and moves to a lonely island that seems
to grant him the power to paint surreal, sometimes premonitory images. At
its core, the book is about creativity and its relationship to physical and
mental healing-King's continuing attempt to address his own mortality years
after his near death.
But with its sun-blasted beaches and tranquil coastlines, what could
possibly be frightening about Florida? "The actual environment down here is
a bit scary in that everything grows everywhere all the time," King says. "I
don't think it's any accident that when I had the idea for the book, I was
walking down the side of a road, it was getting dark, and I was literally
entombed in foliage-big rhododendron bushes, like 20 feet high."
So has he abandoned his home turf? "I've written all these books about Maine
simply because it's what I know," he says. And he didn't know the Gulf
Coast, which is why it took him almost a decade to write about it. "You have
to know where the roads go and what the names of the plants are," he says.
Hence his self-imposed literary exile from Maine streets. "I thought, if
you're going to make a break, why not make a complete break?"
Duma, with its maimed painter, follows Lisey's Story, his 2006 literary
novel about a writer's widow. And while both books are concerned with the
death or near death of an artist, King brushes aside the idea that any of it
is autobiographical. He's already done that. "When I wrote about my accident
in [2000's] On Writing, I wrote about something that actually happened," he
says. "With some of these later books, I'm trying to write about what it
means, how that kind of thing changes a person. I certainly don't want to
use my fiction to psychoanalyze myself. I'm not into that kind of public
therapy."
Yet it's difficult to ignore the sensation that King is working some things
out, especially in the book's early scenes, rife with vivid descriptions of
a broken body and a broken mind. "You don't think that kind of pain will
pass, but it does," he writes. "Then they ship you home and replace it with
the agony of physical rehabilitation." As King remembers his experience,
though, "the thing that really terrified me was that my memory for a while
became very unreliable." He figures, as he always has with his work, that
the things that scare him will scare us. It never hurts, however, to throw
in, as he does, dead twin girls. King hopes people will associate these
twins with his new book, instead of Stanley Kubrick's version of The
Shining, which King believes is too emotionally distant.
And for those fans who almost lost their minds when it was reported in 2002
that King would retire, don't worry. King's age and his residence in the
Sunshine State are not signs that he's thinking about calling it quits. His
next book of short stories, Unnatural Acts of Intercourse, will come out
this fall or next spring, and he's working on a "novel that's going to be
very long. I'll be killing a lot of trees if it gets done." Still, he's
pretty clear-eyed about his new life. "I think [Florida is] where pop
novelists go to die, in a way," he says. "It does feel a little like
retirement now, but why not? I'm 60 now, so I can kick back a little bit.
Sixty's the new 50, and dead is the new alive."
---

Di&go
@}~,~'~~~
Fornit Some Fornus

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