Showing posts with label Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came. Show all posts

Saturday, December 11, 2010

Insomnia by Stephen King


Insomnia
By Stephen King
Copyright 1994

In the early 1990s, Stephen King embarked on a journey that saw his books infused with a strong feminist theme. Starting with Gerald’s Game in 1992, King would write a series of books where the primary focus was the damsel in distress. The tormentor is always a husband. In the books, women are noble creatures. Men are devils.

This was the third of King’s “feminist” books. And while it is not as bad as Gerald’s Game, it is not as good as Rose Madder or Delores Claiborne which makes it a pretty poor novel. This was the third time I’ve read it and it gets worse upon each rereading. I hope never to read it again.

Insomnia takes us back to the town of Derry where It took place. We find that many of our old friends from It are still in Derry. Mike Hanlon is still the town librarian and Ben Hanscomb designed the city’s new civic center – built after the flood of 1986 wiped out half the town.

We know of Derry that one of the Guardians of the Beam resides deep under the city. The Turtle, who vomited up our universe whilst ill with a stomach ailment, guard one of the doorways that stand at the end of every beam.

We know that Derry is a thin place – or “thinny” between worlds. The aforementioned creature from It was certainly a Dark Tower minion able to make his way into our world.

Old people in Derry are having a tough time sleeping. Ralph Roberts, a 72 year old widower grows distressed as he awakens earlier and earlier each morning, unable to get back to sleep. The lost sleep over weeks takes its toll on Roberts and he begins to hallucinate.

He starts seeing auras much like a spiritualist. The auras reveal the nature of the person and in some cases, their imminent deaths. He also notes that each person he sees has an umbilicus leading from our heads upward. Some people have longer cords than others. Seeing all this, Ralph is sure he is going insane. Still, the sensation is not unpleasant.

One night, while passing a sleepless night at his front window, Ralph observes what he believes to be two little people – twins – exiting the home of the sickly widow across the street. The two men are small and have faces that include all of the requisite features, yet are featureless. One carries with him a pair of large, stainless steel scissors. He places an anonymous 911 call and authorities arrive at the house to find a woman who died a natural death. Ralph does not report what he sees, but he is determined to find out who these two men were.

Meanwhile, the town of Derry is up in arms about the anticipated rally to be held by noted feminist, Susan Day. The central issue is abortion and Derry’s women’s health center. The pro-choicers are determined that the rally will happen while a fringe anti-abortion group is willing to take whatever measures necessary to prevent Day from speaking.

Ralph soon sees another of the “little bald doctors” as he calls them. This one is different from the first two. They were clean and mannerly as they left the house. They seem to share a camaraderie and mutual respect for each other and themselves. They were also clean and neat. The little bald doctor Ralph observes one night tormenting the local stray dog, wears a cruddy apron and wields a rusty scalpel. He is frightened of doctor #3.

Ralph soon learns that a friend of his, a widow who lives on the same street, also suffers from insomnia and has had similar experiences with auras. Together, they are able to find the two good doctors who they learn inflicted insomnia upon them so that they could see each other and communicate.

It is here that we come to learn a great deal about the Dark Tower and it makes this novel worth reading. Ralph names the doctors Clotho and Lachesis. Clotho and Lachesis explain that they are inhabitants of the lower levels of the Dark Tower and are yeoman servants of what is known as “The Purpose.” There job is to see that timely deaths are seen to by a cutting of that ethereal cord above the head of people. It is a job they do with tenderness and love.

The third doctor, they explain, is an agent of “The Random.” He metes out death without purpose. The kid that gets hit by the car – or tanker truck like Gage Creed in Pet Sematary are victims of The Random and Atropos as Ralph names him. While he is unseemly, they explain, he is an agent of the Dark Tower and necessary to the cosmos.

However, Atropos and his master the Crimson King, have a plan in mind that fits in with neither The Purpose nor The Random. Each person, with rare exceptions, will live and die by the Purpose or the Random. One of the few who is not is an insane man bent on stopping the rally. He serves neither and the Crimson King has co-opted Ed Deepneau to create chaos, mayhem, and murder in Derry while targeting one young boy in particular who threatens the plans of the master of the Dark Tower. Ralph and Lois must use the powers they acquire through their insomnia to thwart Ed Deepneau and the Crimson King, imprisoned or holding domain over a Dark Tower in another world.

Deepneau’s pro-life followers attack a battered women’s shelter outside of town, setting it afire and killing its staff. The residents and their children huddle in the basement as the building burns and the police lay siege, trying to force the armed protesters out or kill them. Lois and Ralph are able to “beam” into the basement and lead the women and children to safety.

When they arrive in the basement, they are not yet visible to the people trapped there, being “up levels” within the realm of existence. Except one child – a small boy – sees them and tells his mom there are angels in the room. It is this child, Patrick Danville, that Ralph and Lois must save at all costs. Patrick Danville will save the lives of two very important people, Lachesis tells them and he must be alive to do it or all the worlds and the universes in the cosmos will be laid to waste.

When the confrontation at the shelter is over, Ralph and Lois are alarmed to find that Deepneau is not among the dead. They learn that Deepneau has acquired a plane and plans to crash it into the civic center while Susan Day is speaking. All of the women who have just survived the attack by the pro-life forces – including Patrick Danville’s mother – are determined to attend that rally and hear Susan Day speak.

Ralph is able to get aboard the plane and while many die despite Ralph’s best effort, Patrick Danville and his mother survive along with hundreds of others who would have died had Ralph not thwarted Deepneau.

The story ends with Ralph and Lois married. They live together in marital bliss for several years. Then Ralph realizes the time has come for him to make good on a bargain he struck with Clotho and Lacheis. He rushes out into the street to save one final life.

It took King almost 800 pages to tell this tale. The action seems to get going right away when, early in the story, Ralph confronts Ed Deepneau at a traffic accident. Ed insists the truck he hit is carrying the bodies of dead babies. Ed had been his friend and Ralph is struck by Ed’s seeming instantaneous insanity. It’s a well written scene and King grabs the reader’s attention with it.

Then, he loses it with endless introspection, over explaining, and over development of characters. Event after event unfolds, told in great narrative detail, with many words. Yet, each event reveals so little information. It becomes tedious reading. There isn’t any real action until the end and by that time, the reader just wants the book to be over if he hasn’t already put it down.

Then other parts of it are just foolish. Ralph discovers he has a karate chop that delivers and energy blast that hurts Atropos. Lois can shoot little bolts of energy from her finger like a pistol. In a story that seems to revel in the deep nature of human existence within the cosmos dominated by a mysterious Dark Tower, this is b-grade science fiction.

The political overtones also weaken the book. King’s narrative does not declare a side in the endless debate over abortion. But, the feminist nature of the story with evil men harming innocent women against the backdrop of an abortion battle is not a good setting – it’s a distraction. King did a much better job of creating the same type of mass hysteria in Needful Things without being so damned ideological.

King had whetted the appetite of Dark Tower fans two years earlier with The Wastelands and despite how awful this book was, it was still a bone thrown to Dark Tower fans. We get our first real look at the Dark Tower, standing tall, with many spires, in a field of brilliantly red roses.

This is where we first meet inhabitants of the Dark Tower who describe its nature. There are many levels within the tower. It has many inhabitants, good and evil. But it is dominated by the evil Crimson King who will develop into Roland’s chief adversary.

King also sets up a new character in Patrick Danville, the kid with a fishhook shaped scar on his nose that will appear later in the Dark Tower series to save the lives of two important people at a most opportune time.

While it was in It that the town of Derry was established and developed quite well, we learn more about this fictional Maine city and it becomes fully incorporated into the Dark Tower world because, as we learn, even with It dead, there are still dangerous creatures who lurk beneath the city. Derry is a place the minions of the Dark Tower are very aware of and it has shown in the town’s history.

As a stand alone novel, I would recommend avoiding Insomnia. King has written worse books – but not many. It is entirely overlong. Its central characters are not interesting. It’s story is weakened by over telling. But for fans of the Dark Tower, it is essential reading. The information revealed in Insomnia is necessary for true appreciation of the story that is to unfold when King eventually returns to the story.

Next in the Dark Tower series is Wizards and Glass which is best described as an interlude where Roland’s life history unfolds. A review coming soon!

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came by Robert Browning

I.

My first thought was, he lied in every word,
That hoary cripple, with malicious eye
Askance to watch the working of his lie
On mine, and mouth scarce able to afford
Suppression of the glee, that pursed and scored
Its edge, at one more victim gained thereby.

II.

What else should he be set for, with his staff?
What, save to waylay with his lies, ensnare
All travellers who might find him posted there,
And ask the road? I guessed what skull-like laugh
Would break, what crutch 'gin write my epitaph
For pastime in the dusty thoroughfare,

III.

If at his counsel I should turn aside
Into that ominous tract which, all agree,
Hides the Dark Tower. Yet acquiescingly
I did turn as he pointed: neither pride
Nor hope rekindling at the end descried,
So much as gladness that some end might be.

IV.

For, what with my whole world-wide wandering,
What with my search drawn out thro' years, my hope
Dwindled into a ghost not fit to cope
With that obstreperous joy success would bring,
I hardly tried now to rebuke the spring
My heart made, finding failure in its scope.

V.

As when a sick man very near to death
Seems dead indeed, and feels begin and end
The tears and takes the farewell of each friend,
And hears one bid the other go, draw breath
Freelier outside, (``since all is o'er,'' he saith,
``And the blow falIen no grieving can amend;'')

VI.

While some discuss if near the other graves
Be room enough for this, and when a day
Suits best for carrying the corpse away,
With care about the banners, scarves and staves:
And still the man hears all, and only craves
He may not shame such tender love and stay.

VII.

Thus, I had so long suffered in this quest,
Heard failure prophesied so oft, been writ
So many times among ``The Band''---to wit,
The knights who to the Dark Tower's search addressed
Their steps---that just to fail as they, seemed best,
And all the doubt was now---should I be fit?

VIII.

So, quiet as despair, I turned from him,
That hateful cripple, out of his highway
Into the path he pointed. All the day
Had been a dreary one at best, and dim
Was settling to its close, yet shot one grim
Red leer to see the plain catch its estray.

IX.

For mark! no sooner was I fairly found
Pledged to the plain, after a pace or two,
Than, pausing to throw backward a last view
O'er the safe road, 'twas gone; grey plain all round:
Nothing but plain to the horizon's bound.
I might go on; nought else remained to do.

X.

So, on I went. I think I never saw
Such starved ignoble nature; nothing throve:
For flowers---as well expect a cedar grove!
But cockle, spurge, according to their law
Might propagate their kind, with none to awe,
You'd think; a burr had been a treasure-trove.

XI.

No! penury, inertness and grimace,
In some strange sort, were the land's portion. ``See
``Or shut your eyes,'' said nature peevishly,
``It nothing skills: I cannot help my case:
``'Tis the Last judgment's fire must cure this place,
``Calcine its clods and set my prisoners free.''

XII.

If there pushed any ragged thistle-stalk
Above its mates, the head was chopped; the bents
Were jealous else. What made those holes and rents
In the dock's harsh swarth leaves, bruised as to baulk
All hope of greenness?'tis a brute must walk
Pashing their life out, with a brute's intents.

XIII.

As for the grass, it grew as scant as hair
In leprosy; thin dry blades pricked the mud
Which underneath looked kneaded up with blood.
One stiff blind horse, his every bone a-stare,
Stood stupefied, however he came there:
Thrust out past service from the devil's stud!

XIV.

Alive? he might be dead for aught I know,
With that red gaunt and colloped neck a-strain,
And shut eyes underneath the rusty mane;
Seldom went such grotesqueness with such woe;
I never saw a brute I hated so;
He must be wicked to deserve such pain.

XV.

I shut my eyes and turned them on my heart.
As a man calls for wine before he fights,
I asked one draught of earlier, happier sights,
Ere fitly I could hope to play my part.
Think first, fight afterwards---the soldier's art:
One taste of the old time sets all to rights.

XVI.

Not it! I fancied Cuthbert's reddening face
Beneath its garniture of curly gold,
Dear fellow, till I almost felt him fold
An arm in mine to fix me to the place,
That way he used. Alas, one night's disgrace!
Out went my heart's new fire and left it cold.

XVII.

Giles then, the soul of honour---there he stands
Frank as ten years ago when knighted first.
What honest man should dare (he said) he durst.
Good---but the scene shifts---faugh! what hangman hands
Pin to his breast a parchment? His own bands
Read it. Poor traitor, spit upon and curst!

XVIII.

Better this present than a past like that;
Back therefore to my darkening path again!
No sound, no sight as far as eye could strain.
Will the night send a howlet or a bat?
I asked: when something on the dismal flat
Came to arrest my thoughts and change their train.

XIX.

A sudden little river crossed my path
As unexpected as a serpent comes.
No sluggish tide congenial to the glooms;
This, as it frothed by, might have been a bath
For the fiend's glowing hoof---to see the wrath
Of its black eddy bespate with flakes and spumes.

XX.

So petty yet so spiteful! All along,
Low scrubby alders kneeled down over it;
Drenched willows flung them headlong in a fit
Of route despair, a suicidal throng:
The river which had done them all the wrong,
Whate'er that was, rolled by, deterred no whit.

XXI.

Which, while I forded,---good saints, how I feared
To set my foot upon a dead man's cheek,
Each step, or feel the spear I thrust to seek
For hollows, tangled in his hair or beard!
---It may have been a water-rat I speared,
But, ugh! it sounded like a baby's shriek.

XXII.

Glad was I when I reached the other bank.
Now for a better country. Vain presage!
Who were the strugglers, what war did they wage,
Whose savage trample thus could pad the dank
Soil to a plash? Toads in a poisoned tank,
Or wild cats in a red-hot iron cage---

XXIII.

The fight must so have seemed in that fell cirque.
What penned them there, with all the plain to choose?
No foot-print leading to that horrid mews,
None out of it. Mad brewage set to work
Their brains, no doubt, like galley-slaves the Turk
Pits for his pastime, Christians against Jews.

XXIV.

And more than that---a furlong on---why, there!
What bad use was that engine for, that wheel,
Or brake, not wheel---that harrow fit to reel
Men's bodies out like silk? with all the air
Of Tophet's tool, on earth left unaware,
Or brought to sharpen its rusty teeth of steel.

XXV.

Then came a bit of stubbed ground, once a wood,
Next a marsh, it would seem, and now mere earth
Desperate and done with; (so a fool finds mirth,
Makes a thing and then mars it, till his mood
Changes and off he goes!) within a rood---
Bog, clay and rubble, sand and stark black dearth.

XXVI.

Now blotches rankling, coloured gay and grim,
Now patches where some leanness of the soil's
Broke into moss or substances like boils;
Then came some palsied oak, a cleft in him
Like a distorted mouth that splits its rim
Gaping at death, and dies while it recoils.

XXVII.

And just as far as ever from the end!
Nought in the distance but the evening, nought
To point my footstep further! At the thought,
great black bird, Apollyon's bosom-friend,
Sailed past, nor beat his wide wing dragon-penned
That brushed my cap---perchance the guide I sought.

XXVIII.

For, looking up, aware I somehow grew,
'Spite of the dusk, the plain had given place
All round to mountains---with such name to grace
Mere ugly heights and heaps now stolen in view.
How thus they had surprised me,---solve it, you!
How to get from them was no clearer case.

XXIX.

Yet half I seemed to recognize some trick
Of mischief happened to me, God knows when---
In a bad dream perhaps. Here ended, then,
Progress this way. When, in the very nick
Of giving up, one time more, came a click
As when a trap shuts---you're inside the den!

XXX.

Burningly it came on me all at once,
This was the place! those two hills on the right,
Crouched like two bulls locked horn in horn in fight;
While to the left, a tall scalped mountain... Dunce,
Dotard, a-dozing at the very nonce,
After a life spent training for the sight!

XXXI.

What in the midst lay but the Tower itself?
The round squat turret, blind as the fool's heart,
Built of brown stone, without a counter-part
In the whole world. The tempest's mocking elf
Points to the shipman thus the unseen shelf
He strikes on, only when the timbers start.

XXXII.

Not see? because of night perhaps?---why, day
Came back again for that! before it left,
The dying sunset kindled through a cleft:
The hills, like giants at a hunting, lay,
Chin upon hand, to see the game at bay,---
``Now stab and end the creature---to the heft!''

XXXIII.

Not hear? when noise was everywhere! it tolled
Increasing like a bell. Names in my ears
Of all the lost adventurers my peers,---
How such a one was strong, and such was bold,
And such was fortunate, yet, each of old
Lost, lost! one moment knelled the woe of years.

XXXIV.

There they stood, ranged along the hill-sides, met
To view the last of me, a living frame
For one more picture! in a sheet of flame
I saw them and I knew them all. And yet
Dauntless the slug-horn to my lips I set,
And blew. ``Childe Roland to the Dark Tower came.''