Tull and "Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome": An Odd but Accurate Comparison

When reading King's description of Tull, I had one of those "tip-of-the-tongue" moments. It reminded me strongly of someplace I'd read about or seen before. It's been niggling at my brain for awhile, and it finally hit me: Bartertown in the 1985 film Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome.

King describes "leering, empty shanties where the people had either moved on or had been moved along" and "an occasional dweller's hovel, given away by a single flickering point of light in the dark" as where people in the dying (until Roland arrives ... shortly thereafter, of course, it's dead) town do the best living they can.

My brother was obsessed with Mad Max. Because his fascinations quickly became those of my sister and me and because he was older, I spent a lot of time watching Thunderdome. A lot of time. I haven't seen it for awhile, but I well remember the depressing, dying, seemingly close to abandoned outskirts of Bartertown as Mel Gibson in the title role entered the depressing city limits.

King describes Tull as "pass-on-by country" (and, more metaphorically I suppose, "a shoddy jewel in a cheap setting"), and I'd argue that the same can be said for Bartertown.

Interesting that the written word can bring up visions so clear of the fruits of someone else's imagination, all within the human brain ... particularly when you consider that this particular human brain hasn't seen Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome for at least fifteen years and might never have spared it more than a passing thought for the rest of my life had I not been giving The Gunslinger such a close and careful rereading. Pretty amazing, when you think about it : )

Roland Can Take Anything ... Except the Fact that he Might be Nuts

While taking a pee into Brown's cornfield, Roland's paranoia takes over a bit. He realizes that the Man in Black has drawn him here, had wanted him to stop and visit with Brown. This epiphany leads him to wonder whether or not Brown is actually the Man in Black himself in disguise.

He quickly discounts this notion as pointless and needlessly upsetting thoughts. To think in this way would be flirting with insanity, with someone completely off the deep end, and the "only contingency he had not learned how to bear was the possibility of his own madness."

Why does Roland fear madness in himself? Is it because he's sub-consciously aware that the seeds have been planted, sown, and are ripe for the reaping? Does he feel that madness would prevent him from completing his mission?

I think that maybe madness is necessary for Roland's completion of his mission. Any thoughts?

"I Think This is It"

The border dweller Brown has an interesting response when Roland asks if he believes in an afterlife: "I think this is it."

Roland's question came about following his observation of Brown's eating habits, notably the blessings the dweller offered to rain, health, and expansion of spirit. It seems that Roland was surprised at the prospect of Brown being, at least on some level, a man of faith.

It seems obvious (considering that I've read the entire series more times than is probably healthy for anyone) that Roland was aware of Brown's connection to the Manni. Brown admitted to living with the Manni for a time but deciding it was "no life for me" since the group was always "looking for holes in the world."

Holes in the world ... definitely something Roland was well aware of. Taking this into consideration, it made me wonder how Roland felt about Brown's view of his current reality as some sort of an afterlife.

"Tak," Goes the Raven

Brown the Border Dweller has a pet raven named Zoltan. Zoltan, by the way, was the name of a fortune-telling arcade game popularized in the early seventies and I'm pretty sure it is the official name (or part of a name) for a certain type of bird.

I mention Zoltan for several reasons. First, of course, is that anyone who has read King's The Stand should theoretically be getting a not-so-friendly feeling about Old Zoltan. Of course, anyone who's read Edgar Allan Poe's poem "The Raven" might well be getting the same feeling. The fact that Brown tried to teach "The Lord's Prayer" to the bird but he eschewed it in lieu of a little ditty about beans being the musical fruit is possibly also noteworthy.

Then there's the thing with the fortune teller. I'm not saying that King meant for this desert raven to be able to see the future, but ... okay, maybe I am saying that, a little. Zoltan says to Roland, for example, "Screw you and the horse you rode in on" ... and, when Roland awoke from a short nap, he found that his mule had died and the bird was literally eating its eyes.

Finally, there's the noise Zoltan makes while walking on the roof when Brown and the gunslinger are preparing their meal. The noise? Words that should be familiar to anyone who's read The Regulators (King as Richard Bachman) and/or Desperation: "Tak-tak-tak."

Danger in a Well

Roland comes upon a saner-than-most border dweller named Brown who lives alone except for his pet raven, Zoltan.

The gunslinger is thirsty, lonely, and his mule is nearly dead. Brown (who I always find myself suspicious of because of his red hair--when that color comes up in King's books, I steel myself ... even if I've read it a ridiculous number of times) explains that he's happy to share his corn, but Roland will have to contribute something for the beans, which are rarer as Brown has to get them from someone else. When Brown goes off to prepare dinner, he suggests that Roland fill his waterskins from his well.

As Roland is in the process of replenishing his water supply, he is shocked when Zoltan squawks, "Screw you and the horse you rode in on." At the sound of the raven's voice, Roland is suddenly aware of how easy it would be for Brown to throw a rock down the well, killing or seriously injuring the gunslinger.

Death in a well is a revisit of sorts. King used this image effectively in his novel Dolores Claiborne, where a woman backed into a corner by her manipulative child-molester of a husband gives him the only justice she can--a rock to the head.

Although this is momentarily reminiscent of a very different novel, Brown does not attack Roland as he's filling his waterskins, and the gunslinger pushes the idea out of his mind with the old adage, "There will be water if God wills it."

Lepers and Madmen

As Roland moves along, he encounters many among the border dwellers. An increasing number of them live alone and fall into two categories--lepers or madmen. Roland claims to find the madmen better company.

One, for example, gave him a Silva compass and asked him to pass it along to the Man Jesus. Although Roland doesn't expect to see the Man Jesus, either in his travels or anywhere, he takes the compass fully intending to do as the madman requested should the opportunity present itself. The fact that our gunslinger is given a compass is an interesting irony, of course, and I'm insanely curious as to whether or not the compass even works.

I'm even more intrigued by the presence of lepers.

Leprosy is part of recorded history since 600 BC. It's a progressive disease where skin lesions cause serious damage to a person's body. Leprosy was treatable on a limited basis as early as the 1930s and has been effectively curable since the early eighties. That leprosy still exists in Roland's world demonstrates that either his location mirrors that of a third world country, where a disease like leprosy is still a problem more than twenty years after it ceased to be an issue in "civilized" nations, or that the disease was never cured in Roland's when.

It's impossible not to notice the Biblical allusions that show up throughout The Dark Tower. The idea of lepers living alone and forgotten is more than reminiscent of the Bible. It's more than a coincidence. It's yet another hint that this tremendous work is more Biblical in nature than most people would believe.

Remnants of Childhood

There is a curious duplicity to Roland.

On the one hand, he is a gunslinger, a trained killer, a man in every sense of the word. On the other, he is reminded of (or perhaps even haunted by) memories of his childhood. There is a little boy inside of Roland, a child that the reader is reminded of most often through snippets of rhyme.

For example, "Spark-a-dark, where's my sire? Will I lay me? Will I stay me? Bless this camp with fire" is spoken over a spark that will hopefully lead to an efficient campfire.

Even as he speaks this little blessing, Roland muses on how odd it is that some of childhood's traditions and memories fall by the wayside, yet others remain a steadfast part of the adult a child becomes. He further notes that these carryovers from childhood grow "the heavier to carry" as time goes on.

Roland's childhood (and coming-of-age, so to speak) is obviously a major part of his character and of the series in general. What happens between the days when he could still be considered a boy and the current events in The Gunslinger is a growing chasm. I understand it now, of course, but I never noticed before how many little clues about Roland's childhood are interspersed throughout.