The Drawing of the Three: The Dark Tower series #2 by Stephen King (novel #236)

Fault always lies in the same place, my fine babies: with him weak enough to lay blame. ~ Cort, the Gunslinger’s teacher

The Drawing of the Three is the second in the 8-volume The Dark Tower series by Stephen King. It is dark fantasy, set in Earth’s future. Physical and Metaphysical laws are greatly altered. There is some collective memory of the old world, and characters describe the present state as a world that has “moved on.” King says it was inspired by two works: “Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came,” a poem by Robert Browning, and The Lord of the Rings by J. R. R. Tolkien. It resembles Browning’s poem in some specific points and The Lord of the Rings very little, except as an epic fantasy. 

 

In Volume I, the reader is introduced to the gunslinger, whom I assume is the principal character throughout the series. He is on a quest to the Dark Tower, though it is unclear why? At the end of volume I, the mysterious Man in Black tells the Gunslinger’s fortune using something like tarot cards. The Gunslinger is to encounter three enigmatic characters: the Prisoner, the two-faced woman, and Death. The Drawing of the Three is about those encounters.

 

In each instance, the Gunslinger steps through a portal into another world, or more precisely, another time, the world as it was before it moved on: 20th-century America. In this world/time, he exists within the body and shares consciousness with the three persons. Each faces a significant crisis of their own, and the Gunslinger intervenes while simultaneously forcing them into his struggle.

 

It was an exciting read. Each character is damaged. Two are pitiable. Two will form alliances with the Gunslinger. All three are essential to his quest for the Dark Tower. It is riveting right from the beginning. Back in his own world/time the Gunslinger has an ongoing life-and-death struggle with “lobstrosities”— lobster monstrosities, which are almost comical, other than the permanent physical maiming they cause to the hero of the tale. 

 

As I mentioned in my review of Volume I, I didn’t want to commit to an 8-volume series, but I am entirely hooked and anxious to start Volume III.

 

My rating: 3 1/2 out of 5 stars

 

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The Gunslinger: The Dark Tower series #1 by Stephen King (novel #235)

The Gunslinger is first in the 8-volume The Dark Tower series by Stephen King. It is dark fantasy, set in Earth’s future. Physical and Metaphysical laws are greatly altered. There is some collective memory of the old world, and characters describe the present state as a world that has “moved on.” King says it was inspired by two works: “Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came,” a poem by Robert Browning, and The Lord of the Rings by J. R. R. Tolkien. It resembles Browning’s poem in some specific points and The Lord of the Rings very little, except as an epic fantasy.

 

The gunslinger, the last gunslinger is Roland Deschain. The novel opens on Roland’s miserable and seemingly hopeless trek across a bleak desert in pursuit of The Man in Black, a wizard or demon, or something else?

 

The reader assumes Roland is the good guy and the Man in Black must be the bad guy, but bit by bit, as King narrates Roland’s quest, the reader learns very little is quite so narrowly defined in the world that has moved on. The Gunslinger is at least admirable for his dogged commitment to his quest. You get the impression Roland would just as soon sit down and die, but he’s taken an oath, or bound to a mission, or just stubborn and will not relent. Also, bit by bit, the reader learns that the Man in Black is not the quest; he is just the key to Roland’s true mission, which is to discover the Dark Tower.

 

I’ve wanted to read this for years, but I’ve also been reluctant because I feared reading the first in the series would necessitate reading the entire series. My fears were realized as I am now captivated. Book #1 does not satisfy by itself. So, I’m in it for the long haul.

 

As a single volume, The Gunslinger is compelling and maddening. King references mysteries of the world that has moved on without explanation only later to give a clue or, presumably, in later volumes, sudden clarity. It's maddening and clever. I’d resent this if I felt it was only a gimmick to sell books, but King teases so masterfully it just feels like great storytelling. But it's still a little maddening.

 

My rating: 3 1/2 out of 5 stars

 

 

There was a satisfying, albeit puzzling, allusion to a classic novel. The gunslinger sees some rabbits emerge from their holes.

 

Three rabbits came, and once they were at silflay the gunslinger pulled leather. [shot them]

 

"Silflay" is a word in Rabbit speech from the novel Watership Down that means for Rabbits to go above ground to feed. Perhaps there were allusions to other writings and I’m not well-read enough to have caught them. I did feel a little smug at getting this one.

 

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The Day of the Jackal by Frederick Forsyth (novel #234)

Claude Lebel was, as he knew, a good cop.

The Day of the Jackal is the first novel by Frederick Forsyth. It is a political thriller, suspense novel though the very beginning is historical fiction. It recounts an actual assassination attempt on President Charles de Gaulle of France in 1962. The failed attempt was the design of the Organisation armée secrète (OAS) [Secret Army Organisation]. The novel then becomes fiction. After repeated failures, the OAS decides their best chance is to hire a foreign professional killer, who is later codenamed the Jackal.

 

The Jackal is dashing and aloof. He’s a bit like James Bond, only a villain. He is almost admirable for his quiet confidence, meticulous planning, and dedication to his task. I’m always a bit uneasy when authors make me feel that…respect for the bad guy.

 

But fortunately, half-way through the story, Forsyth introduces the Jackal’s antithesis, the less flamboyant, but genuinely admirable, Detective Claude Lebel.

 

When the French government learns that a foreign assassin has been hired by the OAS, the entire French security apparatus convenes to stop the killer. There efforts are confounded by the President’s refusal to change his schedule, or to publicly announce the manhunt for the Jackal.

 

Lebel, by virtue of being called the best detective in all of France by the National Commissioner of Police, is chosen to spearhead the hunt for the Jackal.

 

He is also set up to be the fall guy.

 

Claude Lebel was, as he knew, a good cop. He had always been a good cop, slow, precise, methodical, painstaking. Just occasionally he had shown the flash of inspiration that is needed to turn a good cop into a remarkable detective. But he had never lost sight of the fact that in police work ninety-nine percent of the effort is routine, unspectacular enquiry, checking and double-checking, laboriously building up a web of parts until the parts become a whole, the whole becomes a net, and the net finally encloses the criminal with a case that will not just make headlines but stand up in court.

 

“Thriller” is an apt description. I typically pace myself when reading a novel, but this was hard to put down. The political intrigue was maddening. Several of the government ministers arrogantly and foolishly undermine Lebel’s efforts. The characters are superbly believable: the killer, the cop, the petty bureaucrats, or perhaps the lofty bureaucrats, bystanders, and accomplices. But the cat and mouse between the Jackal and Lebel is the real story. The Jackal always seems to be one step ahead, and time is running out.

 

 

My rating: 4 out of 5 stars

 

 

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Hangover Square: A Story of Darkest Earl’s Court by Patrick Hamilton (novel #233)

Click!…Here it was again! He was walking along the cliff at Hunstanton and it had come again…Click!...Or would the word “snap” or “crack” describe it better.

 

This opening line describes a psychological malady that affects George Harvey Bone from time to time and without warning. After the click George falls into a mental fog; he calls them “dead moods”, in which he is somewhat confused and detached. He knows who he is. He can carry on conversations, though he often doesn’t make much sense. It also brings on a primary thought of some important task he must do but can’t recall. After a few minutes into the dead mood, he remembers…

 

He passed a shelter, around which some children were running, firing toy pistols at each other. Then he remembered, without any difficulty, what it was he had to do: he had to kill Netta Longdon.

 

A pretty captivating set up, I was hooked. George is not alarmed by these dead moods. He’s grown used to them. Neither is he alarmed by the realization he must kill Netta. He’s quite matter-of-fact with himself about it, though he recognizes the need for discretion. He doesn’t want the police bothering him afterwards. The dead moods end as abruptly as they begin, though he is more disoriented when coming out. He remembers very little about what happened to him during the dead mood, and has no recollection of plans to kill Netta. On the contrary, he is hopelessly, pathetically in love with her.

 

Which is unfortunate because she is a user. She is a beautiful unsuccessful actress, broke, alcoholic, vain, lazy, extravagant (with George’s money), deceitful, ungrateful, and cruel. I’m certain I missed a few of her vices.

 

Foul as she was to him, there were moments when, because he understood her so well, he was almost sorry for her.

 

Oh yes, she also sympathizes with Hitler. There, now you should get the picture: thoroughly despicable. The novel opens in late 1938 when rumors of war are growing serious.

 

Hangover square is categorized as a dark comedy. I’m familiar with the term, but this novel really made me think about what it means. I infer, something like this: something is happening, or about to happen, that is so horrible that we would find it…well…horrible, but yet, and again I infer, that because we know it is a farce, we may find it almost comical.

 

Wanderer’s opinion anyway. And I need it to be correct, because this novel made me feel something that I’m not at all comfortable with. I almost wanted George to do the deed. That’s OK right, cuz I know it’s a farce…a dark comedy?

 

Yeah, that’s gotta be right.

 

No spoiler. But I should add something about George: he drinks like a fish. Just about everyone in this novel does. George wonders if his drinking and frequent drunkenness might have something to do with his malady. Ya think?

 

Speaking of the malady, I don’t think it’s schizophrenia as Hamilton suggests in a chapter heading, nor do I think it’s dissociative disorder as some synopses assert. George never assumes a different personality. He is just rather obtuse when he’s in a dead mood.

 

My rating: 3 1/2 out of 5 stars

 

 

This novel satisfies the category “shape” (title must include a shape) in the What’s in a Name 2024 challenge.

 

One last thing about George. He’s quite pathetic overall, but he does have one fine quality. He is reading David Copperfield throughout the story.

 

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For Whom the Bell Tolls by Ernest Hemingway (novel #232)

No man is an island,

Entire of itself;

Every man is a piece of the continent,

A part of the main.

If a clod be washed away by the sea,

Europe is the less,

As well as if a promontory were:

As well as if a manor of thy friend’s

Or of thine were.

Any man’s death diminishes me,

Because I am involved in mankind.

And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls;

It tolls for thee.

~ John Donne

 

 

In him, too, was despair from the sorrow that soldiers turn to hatred in order that they may continue to be soldiers. Now it was over he was lonely, detached and unrelated and he hated every one he saw. ~ narrative regarding Robert Jordan, the hero of For Whom the Bell Tolls

For Whom the Bell Tolls is set in Spain, during the Spanish Civil War. The main character, Robert Jordan, is an American fighting for the Republic against the fascists. He is a man on a mission: to blow a bridge. To do so he must travel behind enemy lines and seek the assistance of guerrilla fighters. As the novel opens, he has already found Anselmo, who in turn introduces him to a small band of guerillas ostensibly led by Pablo, but in truth led by Pablo’s wife Pilar.

 

There is immediate friction between Pablo and the Ingles as Jordan is called. Pablo believes the dynamite can be put to better use than a bridge, while Jordan has orders from the organized Republican Army. Blowing the bridge will prevent the fascists from sending reinforcements to an upcoming battle.

 

Among the guerrilla band, there is Maria, an emotionally scarred young woman the fighters rescued from the fascists. Romance develops between Roberto and Maria. They seize each possible moment and pledge themselves to each other for whatever time they have.

 

There are complications with the bridge, with Pablo, with the dynamite, with true love, but there remains the chance that things will work out, including escape after the bridge is blown.

 

The opening line of the book, and the closing find Robert Jordan in ironically similar physical positions, yet with drastically different prospects.

 

Opening line:

He lay flat on the brown, pine needled floor of the forest, his chin on his folded arms, and high overhead the wind blew in the tips of the pine trees.

Closing line (three days later):

He could feel his heart beating against the pine needle floor of the forest.

This was a reread, but it’s been over 30 years since I last read it. I appreciated it more this time, understanding the inescapable interconnectedness of our lives that Hemingway portrayed and that he alluded to in the title. He initially intended to call it The Undiscovered Country, but eventually decided on a line from Donne. Good choice, I think.

 

Like many of Hemingway’s novels, the main character resembles Hemingway, without the novel being autobiographical. The most poignant similarity between Jordan and Hemingway, is that their fathers both shot themselves.

 

And that Jordan contemplates becoming a writer. While watching some planes overhead he muses…

They are shaped like sharks, Robert Jordan thought, the wide-finned, sharp-nosed sharks of the Gulf Stream. But these, wide-finned in silver, roaring, the light mist of their propellers in the sun, these do not move like sharks. They move like no thing there has ever been. They move like mechanized doom.

 

You ought to write, he told himself.

 

This is the fourth novel I’ve read by Hemingway. The others: The Sun Also Rises, A Farewell to Arms, and The Old Man and the Sea. The Old Man and the Sea is my favorite, but For Whom the Bell Tolls is a close second. The message is profound, and the characters are memorable, believable, lovable, pitiable. One complaint, that I’ve had before with Hemingway, the dialogue between lovers is absurd, preposterously cloying. (I would cite an example, but I don't want to nauseate you.)

 

Nevertheless…

 

My rating: 4 out of 5 stars

 

 

For Whom the Bell Tolls is not a glorification of war. In the introduction, Sean Hemingway describes the reason for his father’s interest in war…

Hemingway appreciated the deep bonds forged in wartime among its fellow combatants, but he viewed war itself as a crime against humanity.

 

And now the movie: 1943 starring Gary Cooper and Ingrid Bergman. It’s nearly 3 hours and quite faithful to the novel. I’m not a fan of Cooper, But Ingrid Bergman as Maria? I like Bergman in most things, but were there no Hispanic actresses in the 40s, or at least someone who could attempt a Spanish accent? Full on Swedish accent all the way. Baffling. But again, a faithful adaptation worth watching if you like the book.

 

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Dandelion Wine by Ray Bradbury (novel #231)

You did not hear them coming. You hardly heard them go. The grass bent down, sprang up again. They passed like cloud shadows downhill…the boys of summer running.

 

Dandelion Wine is the story of summer 1928, Green Town, Illinois as seen through the eyes of 12 year old Douglas Spaulding and his younger brother Tom. Douglas and Tom could be any boys from middle America, though Douglas is a bit more philosophical and imaginative than most. Summer is the grand adventure. Not a moment is to be wasted.

 

The beginning of summer is marked when their grandfather begins distilling dandelion wine, aided by the boys harvest of the ubiquitous weed.

 

The golden tide, the essence of this fine fair month ran, then gushed from the spout below, to be crocked, skimmed of ferment, and bottled in clean ketchup shakers, then ranked in sparkling rows in cellar gloom.

 

Dandelion wine.

 

Some have suggested the wine-making process is a metaphor for capturing all the joy and warmth of summer. Perhaps. To me it was just a quaint remembrance.

 

Deep in winter they had looked for bits and pieces of summer and found it in the furnace cellars or in bonfires on the edge of frozen skating ponds at night. Now, in summer, they went searching for some little bit, some piece of the forgotten winter.

 

There isn’t a true plot; it is character driven. As such it wasn’t my favorite by Bradbury, not as terrifying as Something Wicked This Way Comes, nor as poignant as Fahrenheit 451. But as always, Bradbury writes so beautifully his prose is nearly poetry.

 

Halfway there, Charlie Woodman and John Huff and some other boys rushed by like a swarm of meteors, their gravity so huge they pulled Douglas away from Grandfather and Tom and swept him off toward the ravine.

 

Dandelion Wine is inspired by Bradbury’s childhood: Douglas is Bradbury, fictional Green Town, is the author’s hometown Waukegan, Illinois, and other characters are presumably mapped to his family and friends. It is the first in the somewhat vaguely connected Green Town Trilogy: Dandelion Wine, Farewell Summer, and Something Wicked this Way Comes.

 

Still a very enjoyable read. I’m glad I read it in Summer.

 

My rating: 3 1/2 out of 5 stars

 

It was surprising to me that this was set in 1928. It could just as easily have been 1973, my own 12 year old summer in middle America. I think those days are gone now. Pity!

The first thing you learn in life is you're a fool. The last thing you learn in life is you're the same fool.

 

It is the privilege of old people to seem to know everything. But it’s an act and a mask, like every other act and mask. Between ourselves we old ones wink at each other and smile, saying, How do you like my mask, my act, my certainty? Isn’t life a play? Don’t I play it well?

 

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The Classics Club Spin #38

It is time for the 38th edition of the Classics Club Spin – List 20 books from my CC TBR, by Sunday, July 21, the mods then pick a random number, and I have until September 22 to read the corresponding book.

 

My spin list:

 

1. Hangover Square by Patrick Hamilton

2. Little Dorrit by Charles Dickens

3. Loving by Henry Green

4. Barnaby Rudge by Charles Dickens

5. The Magus by John Fowles

6. Rabbit, Run by John Updike

7. Our Mutual Friend by Charles Dickens

8. The Long Winter by Laura Ingalls Wilder

9. Lord Jim by Joseph Conrad

10. The Ballad of the Sad Café by Carson McCullers

11. Grendel by John Gardner

12. Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe

13. Scoop by Evelyn Waugh

14. Cool Hand Luke by Don Pearce

15. The Silver Sword by Ian Serraillier

16. O Pioneers! by Willa Cather

17. For Whom the Bell Tolls by Ernest Hemingway

18. The Day of the Jackal by Frederick Forsyth

19. Post Office by Charles Bukowski

20. Anne of Green Gables by Lucy Maud Montgomery

 

 

I don’t have one I’m especially hoping for; maybe Cool Hand Luke. I’m not in the mood for a long read, so not hoping 2, 4, or 7, even though I usually enjoy Dickens.

 

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