End of an Era, End of a Quest

So I finally finished the last book of the Dark Tower series, probably about an hour ago. It was a good ending. I suspect that there will be people who will not be satisfied, but I liked it. A lot. There were tears, laughs, that feeling of coming back to reality slowly that I always get after reading a thoughtful, well-crafted story. Maybe some people will think that the "bad guys" aren't as tough as they could have been, failed too easily. I don't want to give anything away, because I know Liz is going to read the book soon but I thought they were just right. Bad guys fail easily because they are bad, and they always have that fatal flaw-- hubris. And that makes them miss things.

What's funny is that there are some things in the book that are eerily evocative of things in my own life at this moment. There's this bit about deja vu, and when I read it, thinking of my own story in progress, I shivered a little bit. There's also the name of a dog, which is the same name as Andrew's first dog, long ago. I thought that was a dirty trick on the part of the Muse to throw my way while I was already vulnerable to the old "end of the trail" tears. :)

Since, as I said in an earlier post, I've been reading this series for over 20 years, ending it made me think of other things that have happened in that time. Things, quests, that I myself have gone on and finished, for better or worse. And the ones that I still have to go, too. One reason the quest narrative is so long-lived and satisfying is that when we read one, it reminds us of a shared path we all have. It may not be a straight, linear path (it rarely is, actually). But we all have a beginning, middle, and end. And we have happily ever afters and tragedies too. And friends met and lost along the way.

Are there things in your life you just know you will do? Perhaps you're working on getting there, perhaps it's off in your future somewhere. But you know that no matter what things fate (or Ka, as King's story would call it) throws in your path, you'll do it. And if you don't, there will be some good reason.

I felt that way back when I was out of high school but not in college yet (for two years) about going to college. I knew that it would happen. I didn't know exactly how, but I knew I would do it. And that's always the way I feel about a project in progress-- like the dozens (hundreds?) of papers I've written, classes I've taken. It's how I feel about my dissertation. I'm not exactly sure how long it's going to take (although I'm trying for SOONER rather than later). It's how I feel about having kids-- I even know their names, so it's more like I just haven't yet met them than that they'll never exist. Then there are things that you just can't be sure of. Questions you're not sure of the answers to.

Andrew worries over things. He plans and schemes, and gets a remarkable amount accomplished. I do not generally worry about things in the future. I just always figure that I will do the things I need to do, when they need to be done, and it will just be. Not necessarily always be "right" but will be. It drives him crazy sometimes, because he likes to muddle with an idea, writing plans, lists, thinking. Me, I just prefer to do what needs to be done when I need to do it, and not fiddle too much about it. I can think of a few things that I might have done that I didn't think I'd do, sometimes from lack of preparation, or planning. But I still would not take those things, those events in my life, back. Even the "mistakes" are part of who I am and who I will be. I truly meant it when, in my 9 layers list, I said I regret 0 things. No regrets. I know that sounds sort of corny, and everyone says it. But for me, it's really true. There are a few things I still think could have been done better, for the sake of happiness or whatever... but still.

So. King's left me feeling sort of introspective and I am going to try to work some more on my own story. And my dissertation. Tomorrow we go home, and I may read the first part of the book to Andrew on the drive home. Having read it once already, I will not mind reading as much as the drive takes us and then handing it over to him to finish on his own. (It's one of those wonderful surprises in my life-- that my husband & I share taste in books and can lie for literally days on comfortable couches with good coffee and snacks and read, together but visiting separate worlds, happily.)

The finishing of this book is sort of bittersweet, which is a cliched way of putting it, but the bitter part is that I know that this book is supposed to mean that King is going to retire. He's written a lot, and many of his books have kept me up very late (both in the reading and the later remembering of the ghosties under the bed, with the cold hands, who will surely reach out and grab your ankle if you're not careful).* But at the same time, the sweetness of a job well done, of a story well read, of a quest I feel that I, too, have gone on, peeking over the characters' shoulders here and there. The reason I love to read is visiting the inner thoughts of others-- characters, authors. Yesterday, talking to the cute little girl in the coffee shop, she seemed a bit amused and laughed, saying "it's weird to imagine my teachers rushing home to read Stephen King books." Perspective darling. While you with your youth have never been here where I am, I have been where you are. And while there are places I haven't been, I know parts of your road. And I don't envy you your youth-- although I would hear the tale of it, perhaps, around some campfire some night. And you, well, maybe you'll hear more of mine, too. Because I think we're all part of the same story, ultimately, and even the ones that aren't famous will be heard by someone. And there never really is a "The End."

*Because logic is completely gone in the middle of the night, and we are all 8 years old and alone again when that shiver goes up the back of our neck and we hop over the last few inches trying to not get too close to the bedskirt... waiting for that hand to dart out....