A Very Rough Draft

                I did not enter into reading Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights with high expectations. In fact, I entered that particular reading with expectations set well below my normal level of tolerance, and only chose to read it out of necessity, as it was the only book in my possession in between library trips. I had expected a book with a flimsy, romantic plot held together by a smattering of intolerably corny characters. Wuthering Heights is not the book that I had expected. There is no way to fall in love with Emily Bronte’s characters; even those that appear to be archetypal individuals quickly take on extreme personalities and, in most cases, some degrees of ugliness. Those elements that grant the book great story-telling are the bizarre selection of characters, and the disarmingly unpredictable plot.

                Although Bronte’s settings include none of the extraordinary situations or true external interventions that drive some other books, Wuthering Heights still has an unmistakable line of plot through feeding off of the characters and personalities instead. Bronte is able to create painfully unusual characters that break from the reader’s expectations—namely Heathcliff and Catherine Earnshaw. Where a modern reader might expect to find a tale of the underdog following Heathcliff’s introduction into the plot, this is quickly abandoned by revealing the manipulative nature of all the characters. His actions are obsessive to a point of insane, which is only magnified by his ugly personality, the center of Bronte’s tale. While there is no fantastical world that could swallow the reader in intricacy and detail, Bronte has no need of alien settings or disturbing environments in her novel, all of the conflict possibly needed is easily provided by her unsettling human creations.

                However, Bronte’s novel follows the mode of story-telling a wee bit too closely, especially when considering the role of the irrelevant narrator. Serving only to introduce the reader to the dark enigma that is Heathcliff, and as an excuse to check in with the second generation of characters down the road, the character of Mr. Lockwood is ultimately of little consequence in any part of the story. Other than the means by which to introduce the actual plot, his character is distracting from the actual story. Although it could be argued that he serves as a window into Wuthering Heights from an outsider’s eyes, just as much could be accomplished with a less cumbersome means of storytelling.

Well, I'm sure there are more books that have had significant effects on me, but they're not coming to mind just yet, so here we go!

1.) The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver
This book left with me in a funk that I couldn't shake for two weeks. Kingsolver has an incredible way of tormenting the reader and characters with excruciatingly terrible and horrific situations, through both their foreign culture and environment as well as the Price family's inner dynamics.

2.) The Shining by Stephen King
The Shining was my first King book, as well as my first reasonably intense psychological horror book. Not only did this book persuade me that seriously creeping people out is perfectly okay, but it also ignited my love of horror literature.

3.) The Talisman by Stephen King and Peter Straub
The Talisman has a flavor that is in shortage in most King books, but is present in a great deal of Straub's short stories. Whereas The Shining began in me a love of horror, this particular creation is a door into the insane. Black House, the lesser sequel to The Talisman, lacks what makes its successor so great. Not only does The Talisman completely move outside reality and traditional conventions in story-telling, but it also completely destroys any comfort zone that the reader could have possibly established in a previous part of the book.

4.) The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood
This book is far different from any other books I've read, save for those by George Orwell. The Handmaid's Tale taught me how to write a character whose mind had been completely immersed into one way of thinking, grown out of one in which the modern reader is more comfortable. Offred is an incredibly disconcerting character in the fact that she experiences an American upbringing familiar to the reader, but still undergoes an intense change in personality and mind by the pressures of the right-wing extremist regime.

5.) The Harry Potter series by J.K. Rowling
Rowling's writing isn't phenomenal, nor is it especially descriptive, but shows an incredible presence of imagination. This series literally introduced thousands (or more) children into an incredible childhood full of magic and general Potterverse creativity.

6.) City of the Beasts by Isabel Allende
Possibly one of my favorite books as a youngling, City of the Beasts is a fun and significant book all around. It ties in darker themes in with the lighter in a mixture subtle enough to not traumatize any reader under the age of 13.

7.) The Supernaturalist by Eoin Colfer
Despite not being an especially notable book of quality, Eoin Colfer is hilarious to the immature audience in most of his literature. Scifi is another addiction of mine, and this book was just easy enough to grasp for my incapable little mind that I absolutely loved it.

8.) Breakfast of Champions by Kurt Vonnegut
I don't... I really... I really don't even when it comes to this book. ಠ_ಠ

(Warning: Inevitable spoilers)

To ease the preliminary writing of this post, I'll be restating the prompt and analyzing how the following answer does or does not meet the qualifications posed in said prompt; this act alone should show how entirely modern and self-aware my writing is. The prompt referenced a book with excellent story-telling read sometime in the last three to six months, as well as a thought-out response and explanation as to why the particular book was chosen. Even in this first part, I'm waxing rebellious. The book I have chosen to discuss does not display excellent story-telling in full. When examined at any distance other than close, it displays, at best, engaging and entertaining tale-weaving (ooh, look at me, I'm getting so artsy here.) By no means the best book I have read in the last six months, 'The Dark Tower,' seventh and final in the Dark Tower series by Stephen King, exhibits a curious mixture of chilling, slightly-corny, and terribly addictive story-telling, which, in my scorecard, is far more interesting to write about than a traditionally 'great' novel. Without getting too in-depth into my qualifications of a 'great' book, my standards for decent to good stories are generally set to the following: (1) the presence of personality and development in characters, (2) a plot that develops with the characters while still not relying purely on dense purposely-complicated twists and concepts, and (3) decent writing. The beginnings of the Dark Tower series, 'The Gunslinger' and 'The Drawing of the Three,' contain excellent story-telling to my lax standards. However, the second half of the series, picked up nearly two decades later by King, is pockmarked by unnecessary references and tie-ins in an attempt to form the series into a crescendo of all of King's literature, related or not. 'The Ultimate Purpose! The Supreme Meaning! The Final Quest And The Extreme Theme All Culminate In This Ending That I (seemingly on a whim began to follow) Have Always Planned For!" desperately hint the corrupting references to blissfully unrelated works, such as 'The Stand,' 'It,' and 'The Talisman.' Getting to the point, however, the story of the Dark Tower is a true quest; the characters are real and their personalities set in semi-malleable metals are in compromising and thrilling situations. King manages without fail to prevent the reader from ever truly knowing the characters. Nothing is out of question, no matter how unlikely the action. Iron wills fall to death, trauma, and suggestion, while foolishness and illogic are never far at hand. The plot is an epic in the most basic feeling. The journey is hard, the way is long, hope is lost and found in waves, and the exhaustion shows in the characters just as much as in the reader. And, as any Dark Tower fan will acknowledge, the ending (both of them) are scathingly fitting. For me, an important and meaningful individual in the literary world, 'The Dark Tower' has enough plot and raw story-telling power to make up for King's lapses into 'bigger picture' mode. There was a satisfaction at the end of this series that I have never before encountered, despite having to loath the characters just as much as I took to them. Probably meaningless to the casual reader, one of the final paragraphs of the official book is so satisfying as to be excellent.

"'I am Roland of Gilead, and I come as myself; you will open to me.' After that came the sound of a horn. It simultaneously chilled Patrick's blood and exalted him. The echoes faded into silence. Then, perhaps a minute later, came a great, echoing boom: the sound of a door swinging shut forever. And after that came silence."

As much as I would like to say that was the final ending of the saga, any Dark Tower fan will agree that the Coda, the real ending, is what makes this excellent story-telling. Ask Devra, ask anyone; the true ending is in the Coda, and the Coda is what makes it wonderfully terrible. In this case, there is nothing in the story-telling that prepares you for the real ending, even if you knew the entire time it was coming.