The Dark Tower, At Last

   I wrote this in the wee morning hours this past Sunday.  But due to some technical difficulties and life hinderances, I am only now able to post.  I hope this finds you well.

I FINISHED IT!

Yes, it's true, friends.  I have come to the end of the gunslinger's long journey, the completion of Stephen King's magnum opus, and I am here to make my report.  You'll get no spoilers from me, however.  Nay, never in life, for I would not be the one to ruin or lessen the experience for those who have not yet traveled this path.  I myself had the opportunity to walk through this world innocent, never knowing what lie over the next hill.  And I would have you do the same, for that, I believe, would be the author's wish.  Let him tell it on his terms.

What I will give you instead are my impressions, though they may be vague.  Think of this as a diary entry written by one who, though compelled to record their experiences, is paranoid that the diary itself may slip into the wrong hands.

The Dark Tower, the final installment of Stephen King's Dark Tower series, is, of course, beautiful and terrible and, at times, nearly unbearable.  There came a point (two points, actually, now that I think of it) when I had to put it down.  I had to take a break for a day (and once for two) because I was so shattered and so (let's admit it) depressed that I didn't know if I could go on.  But of course, I did go on.  Like the gunslinger, I was too close.  I had to see this through to the end.  And I can tell you, bittersweet though it may be, it is well worth it.  There is joy here, and a terrifying twist of fate that made me shudder.  (I think my exact words, muttered under my breath in hushed, horrified tones, were, "No f-ing way…")  But it is brilliance all the same, a true masterpiece.  And it is perfect.

The personal touches, by the way, sai King… you said you hoped they weren't pretentious.  They weren't, though I must admit I was a mite scared of that when they first came up.  But, of course, and as always, you didn't disappoint.  And we, your "constant readers", we all say thankya.  Truly, for this epic tale is worth every last syllable.

As a quick side note, I have a friend who got snagged at the end of Wizard and Glass (Vol. IV, ya ken).  There was some oddity there she couldn't get past and so never picked up the Fifth (Wolves of the Calla).  I would urge this friend (and any of you that may have a similar problem) to go on.  The journey deepens and, in some respects, gets wilder still.  But hang in there.  There are places to see and people to meet and experiences I wouldn't have you miss for all the worlds.  (See Jake Chambers vs. a New York taxi cab.  It is worthy.)

All in all, this is an addictive and powerful series, seemingly infused with a living, breathing soul of the kind that makes really, really good fiction what it is.  There are many twists and turns and backtracks along the way.  But what may seem random at first finds its way to its purpose and becomes so crucial to the story that, by the end, you can't see how it could have been told without it.

The characters in The Dark Tower are like dear friends to me now, and I am sad to see it end.  But I suppose it's time to move on.  Get out of Stephen King's glammer for awhile.  Oh, there is still much more of King's world that I have yet to explore.  Under the Dome, for instance, which I bought as soon as it came out and which sits unopened (aside from the teensiest peek at the inside dust jacket, just to see what it might be about… it is tantalizingly blank, adding almost irresistible mystery to the novel) on my computer desk.  And I've never read Cujo or Needful Things.  (And what kind of King fan hasn't read Cujo?)  But, alas, I must put these off for a little while longer.  I believe even Master King would agree that too limited a reading diet isn't good for the writer's mind.  I have some other tales waiting for me, spun by other wordslingers.  Perhaps The Sugar Queen by Sarah Addison Allen, which I bought on a whim.  Or that YA novel which intrigued me… Unwind by Neal Shusterman.  Whatever I choose, it's time to go out and try something new.

As the boy said, there are other worlds than these.

Your Soul in Print

I've taken a bit of a break of late.  Life's been hectic and it's been easier to read the works of others than to use words of my own.  But hopefully my little mental reprieve is coming to an end. 

Don't get me wrong, I'm still reading, and plenty.  It's a happy addiction that I have no plans of curbing.  I've finally come to The Dark Tower, the final volume in Stephen King's The Dark Tower series, and it is every bit as enthralling as the rest.  Of course, having recently finished Song of Susannah (book VI of the series, ya' ken), I now understand more fully than ever before just how very personal this story is to King.  That realization (underlined, bolded and lit up with crimson neon) made my heart actually go out to this man whom I have never met but whose works I have been following for nigh on 17 years (not quite 19, but nearly, very nearly).  Because I get it.  At least I think I do.  I understand that these words we write, fictional or not, these are pieces of our souls, on paper and in print for the world to see and live vicariously through.  I get the compulsion – the feeling that you can't not write it down, write something, by the gods.  And I understand how painful the process can be – the mind-numbing task of getting it all out, of taking it from the concept that seemed to explode in your head one day down to written words on paper, and trying for all you're worth to get it perfect, to do the story justice, for God's sake.  All you can do is get the words down through your own fumbling human hands, filtered through your limited human experience and your never-completely-adequate vocabulary.  When it's big, when it matters to you, sitting down to the computer (or to the blank page with ink pen in hand) is like going to church or entering the sacred circle, performing your sacred duty, and giving thanks to your muse (or whatever you call the place where your inspiration comes from) while simultaneously hoping they picked the right schmuck to interpret this beautiful (or horrible or devastating or hilarious… in the end, they're all beautiful) tale. 

Sai King, if it's like this for you, if it is still, then I get it. 

And so I wander through my own wooded forest; a place strange and unfamiliar, where the landscape can change at a moment's notice and the light is tricky; the land of the unfinished story.  It's been slow going and may take another year yet just to get it all down, between the full time job and the mental dry spells, but what choice do I have?  As I said before, there's that compulsion, that inability to turn away from that fascinating shimmer that is your story, even when the going is hard and the visibility is nil.  It's got me, this one, so I'll keep plodding along until I find my way to the end. 

In the mean time, I have my blog to make note of my observations.  In the future, I'll try to be more consistent with my reports.  I hope you don't get too impatient.  When the mind wanders, it sometimes takes the scenic route back.

Journey Through The Waste Lands

Well, friends, I have decided to delve back into Stephen King’s The Dark Tower series. It's been years since I left Roland and his friends sitting by a beach at the end of Book 2, The Drawing of the Three, and it's high time I met back up with them. I fell into King's dark and wonderous imaginings in my early teens and became a firmly dedicated fan halfway through the pages of the first book I picked up. My first King experience was It, followed closely by The Tommyknockers, which I finished weeks before the made-for-TV-movie came out. The Tommyknockers was my introduction to the shock of falling in love with a novel and then seeing its watered-down and sometimes completely altered interpretation in visual form. Suffice it to say, I spent a large chunk of the movie yelling at my television set, saying things like, “What the *&%^ do you mean you thought you lost her??!! You did lose her! She’s supposed to be DEAD!” And, for the record, yes, I had seen the movie version of It previously and loved it. The only explanation I have for this is that I saw the movie before I read the book. By the time I got the opportunity to read The Stand, unabridged, mind you, I remember being on an impromptu road trip taken under duress and sporting a magnificently congestion-heavy summer cold. By the end of the first chapter I was convinced that I would be responsible for the demise of the human race. Good times.

I started reading The Dark Tower series within a year of having my mind blown by The Stand, and loved every minute of it. Unfortunately, that complicated and fickle lady, Life, got in my way and threw me some curves, causing an abandonment of this great work that I have no good excuse for. Therefore, I am now jumping back on that horse I rode in on. I have successfully re-read The Gunslinger and The Drawing of the Three and am now just about halfway through The Waste Lands, which, of course, is what I came to report on.

This leg of the gunslinger’s journey is quickly becoming my favorite thus far. The landscape is beautiful and terrible and the story is full of enough ka to quicken my breath and keep me turning the pages. The characters, as always, are living, breathing creatures that you can very nearly touch. King’s flair for the epic is wonderful to behold. And, my fellow sentients, I can confirm that this portrayal of the human spirit and the human psyche is nothing short of spot-on.

In this volume, Roland of Gilead says to his two companions, “The quickest way to learn about a new place is to know what it dreams of.” If the gunslinger is correct, then this dream, which ultimately comes from our world via Mr. King, shows our existence as a shadowy, magical place full of the yearning for truth and the unbreakable (though admittedly elastic and oft times crudely knotted) bonds of love. Of course, I am still wandering through this dream and things in Mr. King’s dreams are always apt to change. I’ll let you know if my mid-book impressions still hold true at its conclusion.