55. Hile, Gunslinger

It was Tuesday when I finished reading Song of Susannah, and started out on my final trek towards the dark tower with the seventh and final doorstopping novel in the series: The Dark Tower.

(I briefly considered putting the quest on hold for a month or so to read John Green’s novel titled The Fault In Our Stars, but ultimately decided that I didn’t want to make any detours when I’m already so close to the end of the journey)

If the speed at which I had completed the fourth and fifth novels are any indication of my reading speed and habits, I should expect to arrive at the final conclusion of The Gunslinger’s quest for The Dark Tower by the end of November, or at least some time in December. I only hope that this final semester of being in university and this year’s nanowrimo project doesn’t interfere too much with the reading process.

(I just realized that I had finished reading Song of Susannah – a 450-page novel in 2 weeks. What sort of madness is this?)

Ever since I had discovered the new section of literature in my university’s library, I have been surrounding myself with some serious, serious literature. Not that I have been reading them – I just physically surround myself with all of these classic works and hope that some of their genius might transfer over into my brain through osmosis.

It was only on Thursday evening that I had borrowed the first of these books. Because I am still holding on to the scriptwriting manual by Xander Bennett, I had to choose between a collection of short stories by F. Scott Fitzgerald and the novel that properly put Ernest Hemingway on the map as a serious man in the serious world of literary writing.

Now sits on my table is For Whom The Bell Tolls, a 500-page novel which I should finish within the next 2 weeks if I intend to dodge the late fee.

Having read the first chapter while I was stranded (well, not really stranded – I was really biding my time, waiting for the evening traffic jam to subside before I headed home) in the university library on Thursday evening, the first thought that came to my mind was that language and writing styles have evolved surprisingly little over the course of the past 70 years or so. Of course, Hemingway’s style of writing was probably what shaped modern literature to be what it is, which was why he won the Nobel Prize, but the thought that immediately followed was, “Well, this is going to be fun.”

I really hope it turns out to be fun enough that I manage to complete the book and return it on time.

Even as I write this, George R. R. Martin’s epic fantasy series A Song Of Ice And Fire (don’t ever make the mistake of calling the series Game of Thrones in front of the fans of the books; they’ll rip you apart) sits on the shelf beside me. Soon, I say. After I have seen the room at the top of The Dark Tower; after I have explored the depths of Hemingway’s mind and the colors of Fitzgerald’s lifestyle; after I decipher the underlying truths in the works of Dickens and Shakespeare; then I will immerse myself into a world at war.

Soon.

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