The first time I met the King was through the pages of one of my mother’s book. One of those with the price in lire and the cover painted, that holds a vague smell of stale. Whether it was Carrie, Tommyknockers, or Misery, I honestly do not remember. What I remember is the way those pages fascinated me. Because the King takes you and drags you in his stories. And then you have no way of escape. Once opened one of his books, putting it down becomes almost impossible.
I wold love to have a tour of King’s mind. In order to understand where and how these weird and yet genial ideas come to life. That his past is rather dark is not a secre . Moreover, all of its protagonists have something broken in them. Not good and beautiful heroes, but fragile and tormented beings. On its pages lives human nature in its true essence: complex, never black or white, but endowed with infinite shades.
King is not afraid to go in the deepest parts of the shadows that live in each of us. To give life to the monsters hiding under the bed of our child self. The anxieties that sometimes inhabit the walls of our consciousness. But do not call him a horror writer, because King is much more. A catharsis genious, a modern classic, the king of literature, an icon that will have place for centuries on our bookshelfs.
Long Life to the King. An author who can create whole worlds and populate them with characters that seem more alive than the people around you. Author able to make you grind your teeth out of terror, cry and smile. Long life to King. Today more than ever.