22/11/63

22/11/63

by Stephen King, Richard Chizmar

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Overview

22/11/63 by Stephen King, Richard Chizmar

El 22 de noviembre de 1963 tres disparos resonaron en Dallas. Murió el presidente Kennedy, y el mundo cambió. ¿Qué harías tú si pudieras impedirlo?

En esta novela brillante, Stephen King acompaña al lector en un viaje maravilloso al pasado y en un intento de cambiar lo que pasó. Durante casi 900 páginas nos ofrece un impecable retrato social, político y cultural del final de los años cincuenta y principios de los sesenta; un mundo marcado por coches enormes, la figura de Elvis Presley y el humo de los cigarrillos flotando por todas partes.

Todo empieza con Jake Epping, profesor de inglés en el instituto de Lisbon Falls, Maine, que se gana un sueldo extra con clases nocturnas para adultos. Un día pide a sus estudiantes que escriban sobre un acontecimiento que les haya cambiado la vida, y una de esas redacciones le impacta profundamente: la historia cruenta de una noche de hace cincuenta años cuando el padre de Harry Dunningvolvió a casa para matar a su madre, hermano y hermana con un martillo.

Al leer esta redacción algo transforma a Jake; su vida, igual que aquel día de 1963 en Dallas, cambia por completo en tan solo un instante. Poco después su amigo Al, propietario de un diner en su barrio, le descubre un secreto: en el almacén hay una puerta que conduce al pasado, a un día en particular del año 1958. Y Al le pide a Jake que le ayude con una misión que le obsesiona: impedir el asesinato de Kennedy.

Y así comienza la nueva vida de Jake como George Amberson, en un mundo muy diferente. En él, George se enamorará mientras sigue el rastro de Lee Harvey Oswald hacia un momento histórico que quizá ahora nunca se produzca.

Un viaje al pasado nunca ha sido tan creíble, ni tan terrorífico...

La crítica ha dicho...
«Una novela magistral.»
Iván de la Nuez, Babelia, El País

«Con 22/11/63 King vuelve a sus inicios, a lo más alto. A dar -nunca mejor dicho- en el blanco.»
Rodrigo Fresán, ABC Cultural

«Nos encontramos ante el mejor King... Tan impactante como sus primeros títulos.»
Lluís Fernández, La Razón

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9788401354106
Publisher: Penguin Random House Grupo Editorial España
Publication date: 10/24/2012
Sold by: PENGUIN RANDOM HOUSE GRUPO EDITORIAL
Format: NOOK Book
Pages: 864
Sales rank: 194,368
File size: 2 MB

About the Author

Stephen King es autor de más de cincuenta libros, todos best seller internacionales. Sus títulos más recientes son El visitante, Bellas durmientes (con su hijo Owen King), El bazar de los malos sueños, la trilogía Bill Hodges (Mr Mercedes, Quien pierde paga y Fin de guardia), Doctor Sueño... Su novela 22/11/63 (convertida en serie de televisión en Hulu) fue elegida por The New York Times Book Review como una de las diez mejores novelas de 2011 y por Los Angeles Times como la mejor novela de intriga del año. Sus libros de la serie La Torre Oscura e It han sido adaptados al cine. Le han sido concedidos los premios 2018 PEN America Literary Service Award, 2014 National Medal of Arts y 2003 National Book Foundation Medal for Distinguished Contribution to American Letters. Vive en Bangor, Maine, con su esposa Tabitha King, también novelista.

Hometown:

Bangor, Maine

Date of Birth:

September 21, 1947

Place of Birth:

Portland, Maine

Education:

B.S., University of Maine at Orono, 1970

Read an Excerpt


8

On Monday, March 25, Lee came walking up Neely Street carrying a long package wrapped in brown paper. Peering through a tiny crack in the curtains, I could see the words REGISTERED and INSURED stamped on it in big red letters. For the first time I thought he seemed furtive and nervous, actually looking around at his exterior surroundings instead of at the spooky furniture deep in his head. I knew what was in the package: a 6.5mm Carcano rifle—also known as a Mannlicher-Carcano—complete with scope, purchased from Klein’s Sporting Goods in Chicago. Five minutes after he climbed the outside stairs to the second floor, the gun Lee would use to change history was in a closet above my head. Marina took the famous pictures of him holding it just outside my living room window six days later, but I didn’t see it. That was a Sunday, and I was in Jodie. As the tenth grew closer, those weekends with Sadie had become the most important, the dearest, things in my life.

9

I came awake with a jerk, hearing someone mutter “Still not too late” under his breath. I realized it was me and shut up.

Sadie murmured some thick protest and turned over in bed. The familiar squeak of the springs locked me in place and time: the Candlewood Bungalows, April 5, 1963. I fumbled my watch from the nightstand and peered at the luminous numbers. It was quarter past two in the morning, which meant it was actually the sixth of April.

Still not too late.

Not too late for what? To back off, to let well enough alone? Or bad enough, come to that? The idea of backing off was attractive, God knew. If I went ahead and things went wrong, this could be my last night with Sadie. Ever.

Even if you do have to kill him, you don’t have to do it right away.

True enough. Oswald was going to relocate to New Orleans for awhile after the attempt on the general’s life—another shitty apartment, one I’d already visited—but not for two weeks. That would give me plenty of time to stop his clock. But I sensed it would be a mistake to wait very long. I might find reasons to keep on waiting. The best one was beside me in this bed: long, lovely, and smoothly naked. Maybe she was just another trap laid by the obdurate past, but that didn’t matter, because I loved her. And I could envision a scenario—all too clearly—where I’d have to run after killing Oswald. Run where? Back to Maine, of course. Hoping I could stay ahead of the cops just long enough to get to the rabbit-hole and escape into a future where Sadie Dunhill would be . . . well . . . about eighty years old. If she were alive at all. Given her cigarette habit, that would be like rolling six the hard way.

I got up and went to the window. Only a few of the bungalows were occupied on this early-spring weekend. There was a mud- or manure-splattered pickup truck with a trailer full of what looked like farm implements behind it. An Indian motorcycle with a sidecar. A couple of station wagons. And a two-tone Plymouth Fury. The moon was sliding in and out of thin clouds and it wasn’t possible to make out the color of the car’s lower half by that stuttery light, but I was pretty sure I knew what it was, anyway.

I pulled on my pants, undershirt, and shoes. Then I slipped out of the cabin and walked across the courtyard. The chilly air bit at my bed-warm skin, but I barely felt it. Yes, the car was a Fury, and yes, it was white over red, but this one wasn’t from Maine or Arkansas; the plate was Oklahoma, and the decal in the rear window read GO, SOONERS. I peeked in and saw a scatter of textbooks. Some student, maybe headed south to visit his folks on spring break. Or a couple of horny teachers taking advantage of the Candlewood’s liberal guest policy.

Just another not-quite-on-key chime as the past harmonized with itself. I touched the trunk, as I had back in Lisbon Falls, then returned to the bungalow. Sadie had pushed the sheet down to her waist, and when I came in, the draft of cool air woke her up. She sat, holding the sheet over her breasts, then let it drop when she saw it was me.

“Can’t sleep, honey?”

“I had a bad dream and went out for some air.”

“What was it?”

I unbuttoned my jeans, kicked off my loafers. “Can’t remember.”

“Try. My mother always used to say if you tell your dreams, they won’t come true.”

I got into bed with her wearing nothing but my undershirt. “My mother used to say if you kiss your honey, they won’t come true.”

“Did she actually say that?”

“No.”

“Well,” she said thoughtfully, “it sounds possible. Let’s try it.”

We tried it.

One thing led to another.

10

Afterward, she lit a cigarette. I lay watching the smoke drift up and turn blue in the occasional moonlight coming through the half-drawn curtains. I’d never leave the curtains that way at Neely Street, I thought. At Neely Street, in my other life, I’m always alone but still careful to close them all the way. Except when I’m peeking, that is. Lurking.

Just then I didn’t like myself very much.

“George?”

I sighed. “That’s not my name.”

“I know.”

I looked at her. She inhaled deeply, enjoying her cigarette guiltlessly, as people do in the Land of Ago. “I don’t have any inside information, if that’s what you’re thinking. But it stands to reason. The rest of your past is made up, after all. And I’m glad. I don’t like George all that much. It’s kind of . . . what’s that word you use sometimes? . . . kind of dorky.”

“How does Jake suit you?”

“As in Jacob?”

“Yes.”

“I like it.” She turned to me. “In the Bible, Jacob wrestled an angel. And you’re wrestling, too. Aren’t you?”

“I suppose I am, but not with an angel.” Although Lee Oswald didn’t make much of a devil, either. I liked George de Mohren--schildt better for the devil role. In the Bible, Satan’s a tempter who makes the offer and then stands aside. I hoped de Mohrenschildt was like that.

Sadie snubbed her cigarette. Her voice was calm, but her eyes were dark. “Are you going to be hurt?”

“I don’t know.”

“Are you going away? Because if you have to go away, I’m not sure I can stand it. I would have died before I said it when I was there, but Reno was a nightmare. Losing you for good . . .” She shook her head slowly. “No, I’m not sure I could stand that.”

“I want to marry you,” I said.

“My God,” she said softly. “Just when I’m ready to say it’ll never happen, Jake-alias-George says right now.”

“Not right now, but if the next week goes the way I hope it does . . . will you?”

“Of course. But I do have to ask one teensy question.”

“Am I single? Legally single? Is that what you want to know?”

She nodded.

“I am,” I said.

She let out a comic sigh and grinned like a kid. Then she sobered. “Can I help you? Let me help you.”

The thought turned me cold, and she must have seen it. Her lower lip crept into her mouth. She bit down on it with her teeth. “That bad, then,” she said musingly.

“Let’s put it this way: I’m currently close to a big machine full of sharp teeth, and it’s running full speed. I won’t allow you next to me while I’m monkeying with it.”

“When is it?” she asked. “Your . . . I don’t know . . . your date with destiny?”

“Still to be determined.” I had a feeling that I’d said too much already, but since I’d come this far, I decided to go a little farther. “Something’s going to happen this Wednesday night. Something I have to witness. Then I’ll decide.”

“Is there no way I can help you?”

“I don’t think so, honey.”

“If it turns out I can—”

“Thanks,” I said. “I appreciate that. And you really will marry me?”

“Now that I know your name is Jake? Of course.”

Customer Reviews

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22/11/63 (En Espanol) 3.4 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 18 reviews.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I haven't read the book yet because I accidently purchased it in Spanish....the customer reviews, the editorial reviews, and the cover were all in English, I suggest that B&N labels the book editions a little better!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
damned thing is in spanish, nothing about the site noted that it was not english!!!! money wasted!!!!
Painterroy More than 1 year ago
Beware. Even tho the thumbnail shows a cover in English, and the title is in English, this version is in fact in Spanish. Very deceiving.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I bought the book because I was hoping it would be exciting. Sorry but disappointed! The Hulu series was actually better!
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Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Amazing book, by far my favorite of anything I've ever read. It tapped into every single one of my emotions. 
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mafalda68 More than 1 year ago
Maybe I read to many Stephen King novels in a row, but there was a time when I didn´t believe in him anymore, to many absurd and disappointing endings. But then I read “Under the Dome”, and really REALLY liked it, I realized there was hope again, and with “11/22/63” I confirmed that SK got his mojo back!! Telling a good story has never been a problem for him, but his endings sometimes leave you wondering if the 1000 pages were a waste of time, not on this one, SPOILER ALERT no person waking up and realizing it was a dream or bright light exploding and taking the monsters away. Very happy to count on him again to entertain me, thanks Mr King.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
In King's seemingly effortless story-telling voice, you'll be invited along through a tiny hole in time. He builds his 1958-1963 world so artfully, I now miss an era I never even knew. This is a fantastic "what-if" time travel story that weaves fiction around fact and tosses in a good measure of creepy and a few ounces of quantum physics. I had several nights of too little sleep reading "just a few more pages before bed." 11/22/63 is a worthy read!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
One of my favorite books!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Excellent book! Highly recommended.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Fantastic read
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
The book sucks you back in time. Great read