What I'm Reading: The Waste Lands (Book 3 of The Dark Tower Series) By Stephen King

So I was browsing a used bookstore’s shelves the other day, when I stumbled on a copy of The Waste Lands, which is Book 3 in Stephen King’s Dark Tower series. I picked it up and read it again, for the first time in years.

And I remembered. 

I remembered what it was like to be a kid under the covers, reading with a flashlight until four in the morning. I remembered what it was like to hide my book in my lap or behind a textbook so my teachers wouldn’t see I was reading in class. I remembered sitting on a busy schoolbus, completely oblivious to the chaos around me because I was engrossed in my book. The sheer joy of being completely immersed in a world that’s terrible and beautiful and that I don’t want to leave. I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten. I couldn’t believe how long it had taken to find my way back.

I also remembered that I am totally in love with Roland of Gilead. You know how I was totally fascinated with JZB and all things dark-hero? Yeah…scratch that. Roland isn’t a deliberately sexy character—The Dark Tower steadfastly refused to be a romance no matter how much I wanted it to be. But Roland was sexy to me before I knew what that was. Roland is vulnerable and romantic and practical and deeply dangerous all at the same time. Roland is the kind of guy who’s a little old fashioned, but who can still roll into any situation and have everyone eating out of the palm of his hand. (Or spilling their intestines onto the floor, depending on what kind of situation it is). 

Roland is also a little bit touched in the head. He is a supremely capable character with an enormous blind spot—his obsession with the Dark Tower. It leads him to forsake his friends, his life, his kingdom—everything. But there’s something undeniably attractive about obsession (at least among fictional characters), and even that draws us in. 

Stephen King is a hit-or-miss author for me in a huge way. His misses are big. But his hits are EPIC, and this is the greatest of all of them. (At least the first three books. The last four—well, I’ll let you judge for yourself. But I have strong opinions.)

And as for me? I’m swearing off the dark-and-dangerous heroes. They’re too contrived, too caught up in their own masculinity. Instead, I’m holding out for a guy with faded blue bombardier’s eyes and a talent for the quick draw.