Tag Archives: The Gunslinger

That wicked cool moment when “The Gunslinger” reminds you of W. H. Auden.

The following is from Auden’s “The Third Temptation,” part of “The Quest.”

He watched with all his organs of concern
How princes walk, what wives and children say,
Re-opened old graves in his heart to learn
What laws the dead had died to disobey,

And came reluctantly to his conclusion:
“All the arm-chair philosophies are false;
To love another adds to the confusion;
The song of mercy is the Devil’s Waltz.”

And the quote below is from Stephen King’s “The Gunslinger.”


“The Quest” actually contains a bunch of key images reminiscent of King’s series.  We can easily conclude that these are coincidental, as they serve different thematic purposes.  But it’s still fun to spot the common images.

You can find the entirety of “The Quest” right here:


Did NBC’s “Hannibal” reference Stephen King’s “The Dark Tower” series?!









This could be overeager nerd eisigesis, but something jumped out at me immediately in the second episode of this summer’s “Hannibal.”

When Will Graham greets Abigail Hobbes at the beginning, he wonders about “some other world.”

The doomed young Abigail responds:  “I’m having a hard enough time dealing with this world.  I hope some of the other worlds are easier.”

That’s “worlds,” plural — not “another world” or “the next world.”  It sounds a hell of a lot like the doomed Jake Chambers’ famous line towards the end of “The Gunslinger,” before he falls to his fate:  “Go then.  There are other worlds than these.”

Graham goes on the discuss string theory: “Everything that can happen, happens.”  This dovetails perfectly with the idea of the nearly infinite parallel universes that comprise different levels of “The Tower.”

Then other story parallels occurred to me:

1)  Both Abigail and Jake are children of surrogate fathers who are on a crusade (Graham’s pursuit of Hannibal Lecter, the Gunslinger’s quest for The Tower).

2)  Both are specialized, cold-blooded killers by training (Abigail’s bizarre tutelage by her serial killer biological father, Jake’s training by the Gunslinger).

3)  Both are willingly sacrificed by their surrogate fathers.  (NBC’s show makes it clear that Hannibal is also a father figure to Abigail.)

4)  Both characters were sacrificed by the show’s/book’s title character.

5)  The memories of both haunt the stories’ protagonists as a recurring motif.  Both appear to drive the heroes insane.

6)  Both characters are ostensibly dead at some point, and then are quasi-resurrected by a surprise plot device.  (Abigail has been secreted away by Hannibal; Jake is returned from a parallel universe to which he was consigned.)

7)  The loss of both characters are tied to themes of forgiveness.  (Jake forgives the Gunslinger for letting him fall; Graham explicitly forgives Hannibal for Abigail’s loss as part of the show’s overarching theme.)

It would be fun and perfectly viable to imagine that the show’s events transpire on a “level” of The Tower.  The differing continuities of the original books and feature films could even comprise other levels.  King makes it clear that “twinners” are character analogs living in different universes.

But I am probably just imagining things.  I also thought that Hannibal’s reference to his “person suit” in this season’s first episode was a reference to “Donnie Darko” (2001): “Why do you wear that silly man suit?”  And, in retrospect, that seems like a coincidence.

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I want this framed.

I am not so intense a fan that I need to pursue the first editions, but I would eventually love to have certain artwork in my home.

“The desert was the apotheosis of all deserts, huge, standing to the sky for what looked like eternity in all directions. It was white and blinding and waterless and without feature save for the faint, cloudy haze of the mountains which sketched themselves on the horizon and the devil-grass which brought sweet dreams, nightmares, death. An occasional tombstone sign pointed the way, for once the drifted track that cut its way through the thick crust of alkali had been a highway. Coaches and buckas had followed it. The world had moved on since then. The world had emptied.”

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A recommendation: Stephen King’s “Hearts In Atlantis.”

This book is, in a word, beautiful.

I still remember receiving my hardback copy one Christmas.  After tearing off the wrapping paper, I was nonplussed with its cover.  Peace signs and missing-cat posters?  This didn’t look like “Night Shift” or “The Tommyknockers.” The back cover’s synopsis did little to reassure me that I would like it.  It was some kind of “coming-of-age” drama, and promised nothing of the monsters and mayhem that I’d always loved in Stephen King’s work.  I got the sense that this was a gift book that I would read out of politeness.  If memory serves, I indeed only sat down with it years later.

I just recommended it to a college friend this weekend.  (And now I am tempted to go grab it again, even though I have been itching for so very long to revisit that quick, short little tale entitled “IT.”)  I tried to explain to my alum that “Hearts In Atlantis” was a “more mainstream” King novel that could be enjoyed by anyone.  She asked if there were “monsters,” and I told her, “Well, yeah, but they’re almost always mostly off-screen.”  (I have a habit of describing books as though they are movies.)

And I do think that’s a good way to describe it.  This is a great introduction to King for a mainstream reader.  The horror elements are minimal.  The fantasy elements are used as a plot device, but quite sparingly.  Yes, the “Low Men” from whom one character hides are fantasy characters from Stephen King’s sprawling and expansive “Dark Tower” multiverse.  But, since they are portrayed so mysteriously, they can be just as easily read as sinister government agents — and this would fit right in with the 1960’s paranoia that this period novel often establishes as part of its setting.

If you do happen to love “The Dark Tower,” however, the characters of Ted Brautigan and Bobby Garfield will be familiar to you.  And there is even a single, fleeting reference to a certain frightening provocateur for the violence and dissent in 1960’s America.  We only hear him spoken of once.  His initials are “R.F.,” although he is known to employ pseudonyms.  The reference to him makes perfect sense in the context of the story, and spells great sadness for another character we’ve come to like.

But, again — this is definitely a more mainstream novel, maybe more in the spirit of a dark drama like “Dolores Claiborne” (which I have not read).  Psychic powers and shadowy pursuers take a backseat to stories about people.  There isn’t just one “coming-of-age story.”  There are many, as we see key characters faced with trials and crossroads at different points during their often tragic lives, preceding, during and following a difficult and confusing time in American history.  (I keep calling it a “novel,” even though it’s actually several novellas and three long stories.)  Since it’s the same characters in the same universe, I like to think of it as a single overall novel.  The quite-good film adaptation in 2001, starring Anthony Hopkins, actually covers only one novella within the book, “Low Men In Yellow Coats.”  The eponymous “Hearts in Atlantis” novella is actually a separate tale — one that I enjoyed even more.  This book is a tour de force in showing the points of view for multiple characters.

I was going to state that this is the most moving King tale I’ve ever read.  I hesitate now … I know that a lot of fans point to “The Stand” for such a distinction.  (I personally don’t agree, even though that book is my favorite of all time.)  And certain entries in “The Dark Tower” series are very moving too.  We’ve got Jake’s introduction and fate in “The Gunslinger:”

He is too young to have learned to hate himself yet, but that seed is already there; given time, it will grow, and bear bitter fruit.”

“Go then.  There are other worlds than these.”

We also have Roland of Gilead’s tearful embrace with his father in “Wizard and Glass,” and Steven Deschain’s reveal:  “I have known for five years.”

Still, “Hearts In Atlantis” is a contender.  Parts of it are heartwarming; parts are unflinchingly sad.  It is alternately heartrending and sweet.  I think that this is Stephen King’s most intimate treatment of his characters, with the possible exception of “The Body” (which film fans know as “Stand By Me”).  (And bear in mind, we’re talking about a master of characterization and point-of-view.)  I read “The Body” (part of the collection, “Different Seasons”) when I was a young teen, and that’s so long ago that I cannot adequately compare them.  At any rate, we are a long, long way from straight genre-stuff like “The Boogeyman” and “The Raft.”

I found “Hearts In Atlantis” moving, to say the least.  I hate to invoke the somewhat tired and trite-sounding standby, “I felt as though this book was written especially for me.”  But I do feel that way, and I am not just thinking of one character or one part.  I identified closely with the stages of life and the crises depicted for several characters.  And I can’t even elaborate on why, because such information would be too personal for a public forum.  (Okay, here’s one exception — if anyone reading this lived in Mary Washington College’s Bushnell Hall in 1990 and 1991, there indeed were a slew of guys who played “Hearts” incessantly!!)  This book, which I read in my late 20’s, actually changed the way I looked at … hell, BOOKS.

I’m sorry to gush like a fanboy here yet again … I promise to return to form tomorrow by panning low-budget horror movies.  In the meantime, goodnight, friends.  And do stay ahead of the Low Men.


“Let me through. I am a priest.”

This blog post contains major spoilers for Stephen King’s “The Gunslinger” and “The Waste Lands.”  Please read no further if you haven’t read the series.















A re-read of “The Waste Lands” has informed me of a switcheroo that might strongly detract from one of the most powerful scenes in “The Gunslinger.”  (And I am not sure how the hell I missed this in past readings of the novel … did I just forget?  Am I going senile?)

It is actually Jack Mort, and not The Man In Black, who pushes Jake Chambers into traffic in New York. He is (somewhat confusingly) also dressed as a priest.

I much prefer the iconic, terrifying Walter/Flagg as the slayer (sort of) of poor Jake.  I might just forget that whole Jack Mort retcon, which served little point in “The Waste Lands” and seemed like a surprise that was just shoehorned in.