Duma Key: Where "Broken People Are Special People" and Stephen King Does What He Does Best

 

One of the coolest and most noteworthy things about Stephen King’s writing is just how many great books he’s written.  That statement probably sounds obvious, given his popularity, reputation, and the lengthy span of his professional career.  But what I mean to get at is that King has written a substantial number of great books that don’t spring immediately to mind.  He has produced a fair number of “gems” that are far less discussed or lauded than stuff like Carrie, The Stand, Pet Sematary, The Shining, etc.  A lot of authors have a relatively small number of great books to their names, and that’s nothing to shake a stick at.  But one of the pleasures in exploring King’s literary oeuvre is that you keep finding yourself impressed by books you might not have expected.  

I recently had this experience with Duma Key.  This was a first read for me.  My essential, immediate reaction is that it’s a book which holds true to my sense that King’s more recent writing is nearly as good as—and in some ways even more polished and elegant than—his older, “classic” works.  Over time, King’s prose has become more refined, more artful, while losing virtually none of the raw power which made his early works so striking and effective.  

The first thing that struck me about this particular story is how evocatively King writes about Florida.  The setting is crucial to the sense of atmosphere King establishes. There are perhaps some who feel that King bases too much of his work in New England (and Maine specifically), and if you find yourself in that camp, this novel may persuade you that King is not incapable of writing quite convincingly about another region.  It is well known that for many years King has divided his time between living in New England and the “Sunshine” state, so it is perhaps not surprising that he would eventually want to center a story there.

If that apparent personal connection seems significant to the novel, there are a good many other elements that do too.  I found this novel to have a distinctly thoughtful and reflective nature.  There are many memorable quotes and pithy bits of wisdom peppered throughout.  Is it significant that King wrote this book at the stage of life that he did?  I imagine it is.  The story is told from a perspective with a lot of life experience behind it.  Experience that seems authentic—quite well understood, if you will, by Mr. King.  Was he working out some personal issues of pain, loss, and grief in the writing of this book?  Who can say?  What I can say is that, whatever the impetus behind the project, the result is a work that feels very honest, and in touch with the struggles that arise from having to cope with a particular set of trials and their ensuing tribulations.

I stated that the first thing that struck me was King’s success with setting, but that’s not precisely true.  The very first thing I remember thinking was just how quickly I cared about Edgar.  I have written about this before—King’s unique ability to generate empathy for his characters with such impressive economy.  This is another excellent example.  And does King maintain that high level of compassion for Edgar throughout, giving the reader ample reason to feel joy and concern and fear for him as things develop?  Indeed, he does.       

And speaking of the book’s characters, I would argue that two of the absolute strongest relationships in King’s fiction are featured here: Edgar’s friendship with Wireman, and Edgar’s bond with his daughter, Isle.  It’s especially neat that King shows us Edgar and Wireman’s friendship from the start.  We see how it evolves, and therefore become invested in a very natural way.

(I’ll be vague with what I discuss in the next paragraph, but it is spoiler-ish territory, so proceed with caution.)

There are some awful things that happen in this book.  I do not want to risk spoiling anything, but it is probably not a crime or a shocker to note that the book contains some deaths.  Have there been harsh, difficult deaths in many of King’s novels?  Certainly.  Have there been many quite so devastating as the one at the center of Duma Key?  I think rarely, if ever.  I tip my cap to King for not shying away from this element of his story—for putting his characters through it.  In this case, I should not have been surprised that it happened; you may be able to see it coming, I suppose.  But on some level I didn’t think King would actually go through with it.  It is obvious that King cares for these characters, and so it must have taken a strong resolve to follow his story down its darkest paths.  There are a variety of horrors in this novel that surprised me in that way.  I do not imagine this was a pleasant book for King to write.  It is laden with tragedy and pain.  There were times when it was legitimately hard for me to turn the page and keep reading.           
Amidst all this praise, it is important for me to inject a caveat here.  I do not know if I consider the essential story in Duma Key to be among King’s best.  It is certainly a good one, but I could see some readers thinking that certain aspects of it are too similar or reminiscent of King’s past works.  Personally, I was not bothered by that.  But I did struggle with the concept at the story’s core, which, even at the end, remains perhaps a bit too mysterious and ill-defined for my tastes.  For example, I wanted to know a lot more about Perse, for sure. (Since the story is told from Edgar’s perspective, of course it is limited to what he understands, but nevertheless it did leave me feeling like the payoff was somehow less than it could have been.) The historical stuff regarding Elizabeth is also fairly complex; so much so that King devotes a lot of dialogue just to explaining the mechanics behind what’s happening.  He’s a master, so of course he makes all that as seamless as possible.  But it did take me out of the story for a bit. 

That said, even if it isn’t one of King’s best stories, he tells it in commanding, expert fashion.  The writing is not lacking for style, genuinely unsettling moments, or deep, earnest feeling.  The real trick King pulls off is how nimbly he walks the fine line between dark, wounded emotion and pretention.  Nothing that was tragic in this novel struck me as forced.  King is no stranger to darkness in his stories, but this one contains some especially distressing moments.  I admire King’s willingness to observe such dark truths with such an unblinking eye.  Based on the quality of the prose, I’d rank Duma Key in the top fifteen of his novels, no question.  That’s saying a lot, since I’m also suggesting the story itself is not his most dynamic.  Regardless, King is in top form here, making masterful use of tone, atmosphere, imagery, and emotion.  It is a haunting work that is not likely to leave my mind for some time.  Count this King fan very pleased indeed.

A few final observations:

(These will be spoilers, so be advised.)

 
There are two especially sharp, insightful pieces of writing that struck me as worthy of mention—ideas that reveal the blunt, sometimes harsh truths that exist beneath the surface of things.

The first is Edgar’s confession that he favors Isle to Melinda.  This is the kind of truth that, if ever felt by parents, is rarely uttered.  It’s a nice touch by King, as it adds shades of dark realism to the dynamic between Edgar and his daughters, and paints Edgar in a complex and genuinely human light.

The other is found in the following passage:
 
Edgar, reflecting on the death of his friends: “I felt sad and stunned, but I’d be a liar if I didn’t say I also felt a certain low and slinking relief; humans are, in some ways, such complete shits.  Because Kamen and Tom, although close, stood just outside the charmed circle of those who really mattered to me.”

And here’s some language I really liked:

King, ever skilled with metaphor, offers gems like these: “Her sense of humor was as unreliable as an April afternoon” (p. 390).

In explaining the sudden, surprised relief of tension Edgar feels in a conversation with his ex-wife: “It was as if a tight belt cinching my middle had suddenly been cut away” (p. 385).
 
There are more examples I could cite.  The book is filled with exquisitely crafted language and rich expression of feeling.  It is, I think, a great one by King.