My reading of The Stand continues to lumber along - meaning, I'm enjoying every step of the journey, but other considerations mean I can only make progress in stolen moments.
I've now arrived at the final quarter - Book 3, with our heroes on the way to Las Vegas and their 'stand'. (By the way, I'm reading the older version of the novel, the original, not the full length, unedited, second version that King published in the 90s. So this is just around 800 pages overall.) As I said earlier in the month, I've forgotten all the fine details of the plot so it all seems new, yet mildly familiar. But something I didn't say earlier: there are times when I seem to be reading through the eyes of my old chum Tony, long gone to his long home. Why so? Well he read The Stand before I did in our long ago glory days, much of it in a pub at Summit, where he was living at the time, in the room set aside for playing pool. The novel made a huge impact on him for reasons I never quite understood. Possibly because it was the first 'long' book he'd ever read? He told me about how the other guys in the room couldn't work him out at all and themselves became fascinated with what he was reading (between beating them all at pool.)
Sometimes I find myself reading a paragraph with the naivety of the non-specialist, 'innocent' reader. And Tony is over my shoulder or in my head: And there's this fellah called Randall Flagg, kid. He's summat else. Never such innocence again, eh?
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