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fictionalToday, after several grueling hours at the CCNY library [overly heated and I had to stamp the books out to myself!] I had a very odd experience.
I was carrying a Herculean load of books. Like, really, I looked like one of those little nerdkids, carrying the enormous backpack bigger than themselves, and bowed over from the weight of it. Anyway, I manhandled myself into the subway station at 137th street, and perched on the bench and dove thankfully into my book to await the train.
I was reading The Wastelands, which for those of you who don't know, is Volume 3 in The Dark Tower series by Stephen King. I've only ever read this series once before - it took me a long time to give it a try, since Stephen King is not generally my cup of tea, but D. convinced me (by gifting me with the first three and engaging in a lot of enthusiastic bargaining) to give them a try. So I did - and then I lost a week to Roland, and his quest to keep the Tower from falling. I swallowed those books as fast as humanly possible, and it was a book-journey the likes of which I've never had. And by the end, which I won't spoil, I actually hated D. a little, and Mr. King, well, him I hated a whole lot. Because it was agonizing and true and frightening, and I've never screamed in anguish when I finished a book before, but I certainly did that day.
So I couldn't exactly say that I liked The Dark Tower, but it certainly made an impression. And I've been wanting to read them again. Because though flawed, they were Great Stories, and as much as I hated them, I loved them too.
I mean, how could I not? They're books about stories, and how we are all part of the stories, how they are real, how reality is a story, and well, Jake pretty well sums it up when he says, "There are other worlds than these."
ANYway, so today I'm sitting in the subway station, reading, and then I hear someone say something. I look up, and it's a gang of, well, thugs. And these weren't the little babythugs that you usually run into on the train, all young and pretending to be bad ass. They were menacing, the real deal; I've been riding the subway a long time, and I don't menace easily.
I look out of the corner of my eye to see if there's anyone else they could have been talking to, but no joy - subway station completely empty. I gulp. Meanwhile they're approaching closer and closer, like, far into my personal space, eying me, and my book, and I'm freaking out just a little here.
"You like to read, huh?" one of them says, for what is obviously not the first time, only I hadn't quite heard it before because I was so deep in the book, and oh, god, I think, I've heard this one a million times [Annoying Sexual Harasser: "you like to read, huh, baby? well, why don't you come over here and read THIS!" Me: "Sorry, I don't like to read short books."] but I've never been so petrified while it was happening before.
"Uh...yeah," I say.
"Don't let the Tower fall," he says, sort of abruptly. The rest of the guys look puzzled.
"Uh...I won't," I say, foolishly, because now I really don't know what to make of what's happening, except I am conscious of a huge wave of relief.
They all move away, and then we can hear the sounds of the train about to pull into the station. The guy says to me, "January," [which is when the Dark Tower graphic novel comes out] and I said, "Yeah!" and I smile, for the first time. He doesn't smile back, and he and his thugs get into a different car.
It was maybe the most laconic and weird fannish conversation I've ever had.
I'm posting this instead of thinking about posting it, so it must be finals.
I was carrying a Herculean load of books. Like, really, I looked like one of those little nerdkids, carrying the enormous backpack bigger than themselves, and bowed over from the weight of it. Anyway, I manhandled myself into the subway station at 137th street, and perched on the bench and dove thankfully into my book to await the train.
I was reading The Wastelands, which for those of you who don't know, is Volume 3 in The Dark Tower series by Stephen King. I've only ever read this series once before - it took me a long time to give it a try, since Stephen King is not generally my cup of tea, but D. convinced me (by gifting me with the first three and engaging in a lot of enthusiastic bargaining) to give them a try. So I did - and then I lost a week to Roland, and his quest to keep the Tower from falling. I swallowed those books as fast as humanly possible, and it was a book-journey the likes of which I've never had. And by the end, which I won't spoil, I actually hated D. a little, and Mr. King, well, him I hated a whole lot. Because it was agonizing and true and frightening, and I've never screamed in anguish when I finished a book before, but I certainly did that day.
So I couldn't exactly say that I liked The Dark Tower, but it certainly made an impression. And I've been wanting to read them again. Because though flawed, they were Great Stories, and as much as I hated them, I loved them too.
I mean, how could I not? They're books about stories, and how we are all part of the stories, how they are real, how reality is a story, and well, Jake pretty well sums it up when he says, "There are other worlds than these."
ANYway, so today I'm sitting in the subway station, reading, and then I hear someone say something. I look up, and it's a gang of, well, thugs. And these weren't the little babythugs that you usually run into on the train, all young and pretending to be bad ass. They were menacing, the real deal; I've been riding the subway a long time, and I don't menace easily.
I look out of the corner of my eye to see if there's anyone else they could have been talking to, but no joy - subway station completely empty. I gulp. Meanwhile they're approaching closer and closer, like, far into my personal space, eying me, and my book, and I'm freaking out just a little here.
"You like to read, huh?" one of them says, for what is obviously not the first time, only I hadn't quite heard it before because I was so deep in the book, and oh, god, I think, I've heard this one a million times [Annoying Sexual Harasser: "you like to read, huh, baby? well, why don't you come over here and read THIS!" Me: "Sorry, I don't like to read short books."] but I've never been so petrified while it was happening before.
"Uh...yeah," I say.
"Don't let the Tower fall," he says, sort of abruptly. The rest of the guys look puzzled.
"Uh...I won't," I say, foolishly, because now I really don't know what to make of what's happening, except I am conscious of a huge wave of relief.
They all move away, and then we can hear the sounds of the train about to pull into the station. The guy says to me, "January," [which is when the Dark Tower graphic novel comes out] and I said, "Yeah!" and I smile, for the first time. He doesn't smile back, and he and his thugs get into a different car.
It was maybe the most laconic and weird fannish conversation I've ever had.
I'm posting this instead of thinking about posting it, so it must be finals.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-04 06:08 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-04 12:39 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-04 03:16 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-04 04:34 pm (UTC)I love finding the keys that unlock who people really are beneath their costumes and station in life.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-05 05:30 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-05 05:31 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-05 05:32 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-05 05:34 am (UTC)What a great way to put it, btw.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-05 05:40 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-05 09:28 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-31 10:25 pm (UTC)The last DT book I read was Wizard and Glass. I keep saying I'm going to get the rest of them now that they're all out in paperback, but the idea of having to start at the beginning again seems kind of exhausting to me.
Part of the problem is that I'm old enough to remember when the first book was only published as a limited edition so the rest of us plebes only got to hear about it. I had that first sentence, "The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed." And it's a helluva first sentence. But that was all I had, for years. So I suppose it's not terribly surprising that the books haven't been able to entirely live up to those years when all I had was that one sentence.