Come-come comalla, rice-a come a falla
I finished The Dark Tower today.
Wow.
One must wonder if it was Sai King's intent to make the reader feel some sort of queer kinship with the gunslingers, some disgust with the posturing, facades and idiocy of modern society and the weakness of people. It would be interesting to know if it was his intent to make the reader desire the weight of a "hard caliber" at their side and want for the simple answers provided by a gun.
It probably was his hope.
I wonder how many others felt it?
As Roland climbed the final steps to the Tower, crying the names of the fallen, I actually shivered. Shivered, smiled and nearly cried.
The Dark Tower has changed me, somehow. From "The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed." and back again, I do not think or feel quite the same I did and I'm glad. I've experienced, grown and matured along the way due to my own experience but I can not easily say that I don't slightly wish for a breath of hot, dry air on my cheek and the reassuring weight of simple answers at my hip. Or that I don't hate society more and more as time goes by in its peculiar way.
And now, cry your pardon, I must move on.
Wow.
One must wonder if it was Sai King's intent to make the reader feel some sort of queer kinship with the gunslingers, some disgust with the posturing, facades and idiocy of modern society and the weakness of people. It would be interesting to know if it was his intent to make the reader desire the weight of a "hard caliber" at their side and want for the simple answers provided by a gun.
It probably was his hope.
I wonder how many others felt it?
As Roland climbed the final steps to the Tower, crying the names of the fallen, I actually shivered. Shivered, smiled and nearly cried.
The Dark Tower has changed me, somehow. From "The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed." and back again, I do not think or feel quite the same I did and I'm glad. I've experienced, grown and matured along the way due to my own experience but I can not easily say that I don't slightly wish for a breath of hot, dry air on my cheek and the reassuring weight of simple answers at my hip. Or that I don't hate society more and more as time goes by in its peculiar way.
And now, cry your pardon, I must move on.