In 1970, a young college sophomore read Robert Browning’s epic poem “Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came.” Inspired by its chilling images and ominous tones, the student turned to the nearest sheet of paper (bright green, it was) and began to write. The student’s name was Stephen King, and the scribbles on those garish sheets of paper were the roots for what would, decades later, become the writer’s magnum opus.
Thus began the "Dark Tower" series.
For years, readers have been drawn to the seven books of this series, drawn helpless through the story’s door and traveling down the forsaken and forgotten roads of All-World. Beginning with the evocative and mysterious line, “The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed,” the plot ranges from the fantastical to the terrifying to the downright bizarre, incorporating elements of our world and of All-World, and even characters and concepts from some of King’s other works. It is truly a masterpiece.
And yet, despite all this, many readers have yet to venture into this mysterious and epic world. They may not be fans of King’s work, or they may be intimidated by the sheer volume of the story. They may have tried the first novel, but found it impossible and set it aside. Perhaps you’re one of those readers, even. Or perhaps you’ve never heard of the series at all.
It’s time to change that.
Take a deep breath, reader. I would have you travel with me, if you will, to the Mohaine Desert. Close your eyes and relax – it won’t take but a moment.
Now open your eyes.
Traveler, here lies the Way Station.
It is an ugly place, a long-lost graveyard of dry dust and drier wood all fading away to nothing, but I would have you see it, see it very well.
These buildings must have once been sturdy and strong, but time and sand have worn the wooden walls down thin as paper. Huddled against one of these gutted buildings, trying to take shelter in the sad remains of this place, is a young boy, fair-haired and fair-skinned. The boy Jake sleeps in the tiny puddle of shade afforded him by the withered walls. His sleeping mind is filled with images of New York City, of bustling streets, and of his own small hand, covered in blood, sprawled in those bustling streets. That was the last thing Jake’s eyes saw in his world, before he moved on.
Don’t look too closely at him, traveler. Don’t wake him up. Let him cling to these dreams of his former life while he may. All too soon, his memories will fade and move on, too.
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