A Memory of Light: My Farewell

Warning: Contains minor spoilers

When I was ten years old, almost sixteen years ago now, I began reading a series which would change me forever. Tonight, at 2:04 am January 13, 2013 I read the last book of this series. Men and women don’t struggle against the Shadow anymore. Or maybe they do? The Dark One is gone…for now. The Third Age is ended. How does one cope with the end of an Age? You may not understand what I mean by all this, and for that I am truly sorry. Let me try and explain.

Sixteen years ago, just as I finished reading The Lord of the Rings for the very first time, I was presented with a book by a few of my older siblings. This book was a paperback copy of The Eye of the World: book one of The Wheel of Time. The paperback version of this story is a staggering 782 pages long; not something a ten year old normally finds appealing, especially when it is merely the first of a then seven book series. Although I can safely say when it comes to books, I was not an average ten year old, this was still a tremendous undertaking. My sister promised me as I started though, that if I just kept on to Chapter 5 it would be well worth it. That night, I reached Chapter 5, and continued reading well past my bedtime. Unfortunately, I still had school so I couldn't devote all my time to reading, but as luck would have it I was quite sickly that year, so I had more time than usual.

The following summer I lived on the living room couch, only stirring for brief moments when I had to eat or use the toilet or do some chores. I fell asleep on that couch late at night when I could no longer keep my eyes open. Then, I awoke sometime during the day, and—barring any necessary chores or food or other trivial necessities—I returned to my books. I would take this moment to apologize to my parents for being so useless that year, but I’m really not sorry. Not in the least. I devoured all seven books that summer. The day I finished I sat still for a moment. I then showered, called a friend and rode my bike to his house to play something. I believe it was the first time all summer long I had actually done something recreational outside of my own house.

I've waited since then—sometimes patiently, mostly not—for each successive book to be released. When they were, I usually devoured them within a day or two of their release. I recommended these books to friends, and bonded with those I had just met over these books. I met three separate people in one week in the middle of Germany who I bonded with over these books. Two of them were already friends. When I asked how they met, they told me they were serving in Iraq together when they discovered they each read “The Books.” They were instant friends, and I knew exactly which books they were talking about without anyone saying a title. I’m certain many other people in the world have had similar experiences. The clever moniker these men gave The Books says it all. These aren’t simply books, or a series. They are so much more—like Doctor Who, but fiction.

That’s the point though, isn’t it? These books may be a clever story created by a mere human, but they are not fiction—not truly. The Books are real, and don’t you dare think I’m talking about the flimsy paper and ink which contains them. As I read the finale of this masterpiece, I knew everyone would be okay. I knew good would triumph in the end. It didn’t stop me from feeling anxious. I don’t cry. It’s not a macho thing. I feel emotions just as strongly as any fourteen year old Twilight fan. My body just doesn’t respond with tears. Thank God. I was so close to every emotion I can think of while reading about this book. I even felt bad when Gawyn died. That’s how crazy this was, and don’t get me started on…well…everyone else. These people aren’t just characters, or fiction. They are my friends. They have been my friends longer than almost every single one of my flesh and blood friends. Now that they’re gone…it hurts.

More spoilers, not everyone dies. They’re gone though. I don’t get to live with them anymore. I don’t even get to visit. I can go back and enjoy the times we’ve had together still. I can still be there when Mat becomes a general for the first time, and when Perrin starts acting like an idiot then totally redeems himself. But that’s it. I don’t get to check in with them and see how life’s going. I don’t even get a damn Bel Tine card. For all intents and purposes, they are dead to me. All I have are memories. It’s enough, I think. Even if it’s not, I’ll always feel blessed for having them. I’ll end with one quick thought: The Books have changed me and shaped my life. They’ve made me a better person. I’m sorry the journey has to end, but it is not the ending. There are no endings to The Wheel of Time. But it is an ending. Sorry as I am for that, I am so flaming happy to have been part of it. Thank you.