I am, in all honesty and with true sincerity, starting to question reality.
Remember when I read The Drawing of the Three (Dark Tower #2) and complained that King needs an editor because he shouldn’t be referring to his own work (the film version of The Shining) as content experienced by new characters in this totally different world? And then I read Wizard and Glass (Dark Tower #4) and I was like, “TUBE NECK HOW DARE YOU?!” but then totally turned around on it, and decided to buy the whole kit and kaboodle, because his pitch turned out to be so good? And then The Wind Through the Keyhole (Dark Tower #4.5) went full Arthurian Legend and Wizard of Oz and all the rest of it, and I said “MORE!” But then in Wolves of the Calla (Dark Tower #5), there was a cute bit where the specials board at The Manhattan Restaurant of the Mind had been changed to include work by one very special Stephen King, and I was like “CUTE BIT, STEVE” but smiled and moved on because it was all starting to come together?
Well.
SPOILERS.
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I mean, for real.
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In Song of Susannah (Dark Tower #6), Roland and Eddie GO QUESTING TO FIND STEPHEN KING IN MAINE AND THEY FIND HIM AND IT’S ALL REAL.
Okay, caps off.
Maybe it’s only real in the world in which Co-op City is in Brooklyn. In our world, Stephen King survived getting hit by the car on that quiet strip of highway in Maine on June 19, 1999. In the world of The Dark Tower, he doesn’t. He dies. He’s the earthly vessel for Gan, and the agents of the Crimson King get him.
But, there is something so sneakily wonderful about the way the timeline changes so subtly but importantly every time there is a minor change in the “past” that who the hell actually knows? I mean, we’re all still here, so the Dark Tower must still stand, right??? There is a FANTASTIC (possibly self-indulgent, seen through a lens that is not mine, because I am All In) final section of Song of Susannah that is just King’s journal entries about his life and work after his encounter with Roland and Eddie. Roland hypnotized him during that encounter, and directed him to completely forget their time together, and to write their story as it came to him. The journal entries cover the time from June 1977 when this happens through June of 1999, which is when the van hits him on the highway and he “dies.” And it is so utterly believable, the way that all the other books are about The Dark Tower, and The Dark Tower is about them. It’s masterful.
It’s almost as if he planned it, and the more it percolates, the more it all fits. Which only could be true if he ACTUALLY MET ROLAND AND EDDIE BACK IN THE DAY.
Ack.
Okay, actually real personal crisis aside (okay, but maybe I did a google maps search to see what stands at E 46th St and 2nd Ave, and have been thinking hard about trekking up there), there is something comforting and thoughtful about these journal entries, because King’s alleged journey of discovery of the tale and opening up of this world absolutely mirrors mine, and validates the experience I’ve been having with the series. It is rewarding to learn that he shelved The Gunslinger (Dark Tower #1) for the same reasons I took a break from the series after reading it (except for the part about having a subconscious fear that the Crimson King would find me and kill me). The blossoming of his commitment to the depths of the series’ universe runs completely parallel to my ability to commit to reading it. I seriously love this guy and this series.
The rest of the narrative in Song of Susannah (the King stuff is really only a quarter of it, but so important – I MEAN, 9/11 WAS AN INSIDE JOB BY THE TET CORPORTATION, YOU GUYS) is pretty on-point, and trucks along at a pace, considering that in each of the various whens, only about 12 hours pass altogether. Time is tricky in these stories, but King really has a handle on it. This was probably, by far, the hardest for him to structure, because the ka-tet is physically separated into three parts, each a very important piece of a very complicated puzzle. It’s kept together tightly, and I’m ready (not ready!) for the final book.
A few years ago I was with my husband in NYC for his high school reunion, and we were walking to meet friends for drinks somewhere in mid-town.
Suddenly I realized that we were waiting to cross the street at 46th and 2nd and I made him stop and sit down at Hammerskojld plaza with me.
There were a few tourists there with a map who were chanting “see the turtle of enormous girth, on his back he holds the earth.”
I was pleased, he was confused.