The MoFo Book Club - Idea thread

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I've yet to read any of the Dark Tower series. Never read Cycle of the Werewolf, either. That's not one I hear discussed very much, so I'm assuming it's one of his lesser works. It might have been written in the midst of King's cocaine addiction. The Stand is his best book, though, in my opinion. Before you give up on him, check out more of his early stuff: The Shining, Salem's Lot, The Dead Zone, etc. I think it's hard to go wrong with early King. I'm not as familiar with his later stuff, but the few I've read, like Cell and Lisey's Story, didn't really do it for me.

And since you mentioned being a member of a writing forum, you should pick up King's On Writing. That's the best book on the craft available. Helpful, enjoyable, easy to read, illuminating and completely unpretentious.
ive not read any Dark Tower either. Just don't fancy it. The Stand is his best book I agree, I love that book. I like all his early books but will still read his late stuff. Capt - did you read Mr Mercedes , his crime book?



I only read a few books in my time. I'm pretty sure I didn't read Metamorphosis, even though i had to for school. Did Polanski make a film? I liked Psychological Types by Jung, rather the first 5 pages, which is all my poor mind could do.



I'm not sure I should post this here, but

Anyway my favorite book is Moby Dick by Hermann Melville.. a close second The Red and The Black by Stendahl.

But I'm currently reading The Lord of the rings at an unbelieveble pace for me, 100 pages per 4 hrs. I've read 700 in the last week. It completely drew me into JRR world. Highlights so far are when Galadriel uses her ring and I'll quote

‘And now at last it comes. You will give me the Ring freely!
In place of the Dark Lord you will set up a Queen. And I
shall not be dark, but beautiful and terrible as the Morning
and the Night! Fair as the Sea and the Sun and the Snow
upon the Mountain! Dreadful as the Storm and the Light-
ning! Stronger than the foundations of the earth. All shall
love me and despair!’
She lifted up her hand and from the ring that she wore
there issued a great light that illumined her alone and left all
else dark. She stood before Frodo seeming now tall beyond
measurement, and beautiful beyond enduring, terrible and
worshipful. Then she let her hand fall, and the light faded,
and suddenly she laughed again, and lo! she was shrunken: a slender elf-woman, clad in simple white, whose gentle voicewas soft and sad.
‘I pass the test,’ she said. ‘I will diminish, and go into the
West, and remain Galadriel.’



What a paragraph!

And then, a bit later, when Frodo puts the ring on to escape from Boromir

There was no answer. Frodo did not even hear his cries.
He was already far away, leaping blindly up the path to the
hill-top. Terror and grief shook him, seeing in his thought
the mad fierce face of Boromir, and his burning eyes.
Soon he came out alone on the summit of Amon Hen, and
halted, gasping for breath. He saw as through a mist a wide
flat circle, paved with mighty flags, and surrounded with a
crumbling battlement; and in the middle, set upon four
carven pillars, was a high seat, reached by a stair of many
steps. Up he went and sat upon the ancient chair, feeling likea lost child that had clambered upon the throne of mountain-
kings.
At first he could see little. He seemed to be in a world of
mist in which there were only shadows: the Ring was upon
him. Then here and there the mist gave way and he saw
many visions: small and clear as if they were under his eyes
upon a table, and yet remote. There was no sound, only
bright living images. The world seemed to have shrunk and
fallen silent. He was sitting upon the Seat of Seeing, on Amon
Hen, the Hill of the Eye of the Men of Nu
́
menor. Eastward
he looked into wide uncharted lands, nameless plains, and
forests unexplored. Northward he looked, and the Great
River lay like a ribbon beneath him, and the Misty Mountains
stood small and hard as broken teeth. Westward he looked
and saw the broad pastures of Rohan; and Orthanc, the
pinnacle of Isengard, like a black spike. Southward he
looked, and below his very feet the Great River curled like a
toppling wave and plunged over the falls of Rauros into a
foaming pit; a glimmering rainbow played upon the fume.
And Ethir Anduin he saw, the mighty delta of the River, and
myriads of sea-birds whirling like a white dust in the sun,
and beneath them a green and silver sea, rippling in endless
lines.
But everywhere he looked he saw the signs of war. The
Misty Mountains were crawling like anthills: orcs were issuing
out of a thousand holes. Under the boughs of Mirkwood
there was deadly strife of Elves and Men and fell beasts. The
land of the Beornings was aflame; a cloud was over Moria;
smoke rose on the borders of Lo
́
rien.
Horsemen were galloping on the grass of Rohan; wolves
poured from Isengard. From the havens of Harad ships of
war put out to sea; and out of the East Men were moving
endlessly: swordsmen, spearmen, bowmen upon horses,
chariots of chieftains and laden wains. All the power of theDark Lord was in motion. Then turning south again he beheld
Minas Tirith. Far away it seemed, and beautiful: white-walled,
many-towered, proud and fair upon its mountain-seat; itsbattlements glittered with steel, and its turrets were bright with
many banners. Hope leaped in his heart. But against Minas
Tirith was set another fortress, greater and more strong.
Thither, eastward, unwilling his eye was drawn. It passed
the ruined bridges of Osgiliath, the grinning gates of Minas
Morgul, and the haunted Mountains, and it looked upon
Gorgoroth, the valley of terror in the Land of Mordor. Dark-
ness lay there under the Sun. Fire glowed amid the smoke.
Mount Doom was burning, and a great reek rising. Then
at last his gaze was held: wall upon wall, battlement upon
battlement, black, immeasurably strong, mountain of iron,
gate of steel, tower of adamant, he saw it: Barad-du
ˆ
r, Fortress
of Sauron. All hope left him.
And suddenly he felt the Eye. There was an eye in the
Dark Tower that did not sleep. He knew that it had become
aware of his gaze. A fierce eager will was there. It leaped
towards him; almost like a finger he felt it, searching for him.
Very soon it would nail him down, know just exactly where
he was. Amon Lhaw it touched. It glanced upon Tol Brandir
– he threw himself from the seat, crouching, covering his
head with his grey hood.
He heard himself crying out:
Never, never!
Or was it:
Verily
I come, I come to you
? He could not tell. Then as a flash from
some other point of power there came to his mind another
thought:
Take it off ! Take it off ! Fool, take it off ! Take off the
Ring!
The two powers strove in him. For a moment, perfectly
balanced between their piercing points, he writhed, tor-
mented. Suddenly he was aware of himself again, Frodo,
neither the Voice nor the Eye: free to choose, and with one
remaining instant in which to do so. He took the Ring off his
finger. He was kneeling in clear sunlight before the high seat.
A black shadow seemed to pass like an arm above him; it
missed Amon Hen and groped out west, and faded. Then all
the sky was clean and blue and birds sang in every tree.








Anyway my favorite book is Moby Dick by Hermann Melville.. a close second The Red and The Black by Stendahl.
I read Moby-Dick a couple of years ago and I thought it was great at the beginning; really well written and evocative. Then it seemed to turn into more of a scientific study and it's like Melville forgets the drama he's created to some extent before returning to it much later. What surprised me a lot was that the air of the supernatural that comes over in the Gregory Peck film wasn't present in the book – things like Ahab "beckoning" to the crew etc etc, and I think by adding those things the film actually improved the story and made it really epic. It's a bit like if you had Hamlet without the ghost or Macbeth without the witches.