Lord of the Flies in a Labyrinth: James Dashner’s The Maze Runner
The Maze Runner is the first book in a trilogy by James Dashner that is one of the finest young adult Dystopian series I have read in ages. The story is completely engrossing and with the turn of each page the action intensifies. One day, a boy named Thomas wakes up alone in a strange elevator shaft, knowing only his name but nothing of where he came from. He has been delivered to a community referred to as "The Glade" where a group of fifty teenage boys live. All of the boys were delivered in the same fashion as Thomas, and no one knows who they are, where they came from, or how they got there.
Through the same shaft, residents of The Glade receive daily food and supplies from those the boys refer to as "The Creators," though that is all they know. The teens are surrounded by a maze that is crawling with sinister half-machine monsters known as "The Grievers" that hunt anyone who attempts to venture into the maze to find a way out. The day after Thomas arrives, a girl is delivered with the note: "She is the last." Soon, supplies stop arriving and Thomas finds himself appointed as the leader to get everyone out of The Glade and survive without getting attacked by the merciless metal monsters.
I finished this novel in two days (in an attempt to savor the reading experience), though it can easily be read in a few intense hours. Dashner's next two books in the trilogy, The Scorch Trials and The Death Cure, continue Thomas' survival story. Dashner has also written a prequel to The Maze Runner series, entitled The Kill Order, which explores the back story of the world before Thomas ever entered it, and humanity’s fight against a new mutating disease.
Hollywood has happily taken an interest in the series and in late 2010 it was announced that Catherine Hardwicke (who is best known as the "Twilight" saga's first filmmaker) is attached to direct a theatrical adaptation of The Maze Runner.
If you enjoyed Suzanne Collins' The Hunger Games and are looking for a similar, thrilling new series, I highly recommend you start with The Maze Runner.
He began his new life standing up, surrounded by cold darkness and stale, dusty air.
Metal ground against metal; a lurching shudder shook the floor beneath him. He fell down at the sudden movement and shuffled backward on his hands and feet, drops of sweat beading on his forehead despite the cool air. His back struck a hard metal wall; he slid along it until he hit the corner of the room. Sinking to the floor, he pulled his legs up tight against his body, hoping his eyes would soon adjust to the darkness.
With another jolt, the room jerked upward like an old lift in a mine shaft.
Harsh sounds of chains and pulleys, like the workings of an ancient steel factory, echoed through the room, bouncing off the walls with a hollow, tinny whine. The lightless elevator swayed back and forth as it ascended, turning the boy's stomach sour with nausea; a smell like burnt oil invaded his senses, making him feel worse. He wanted to cry, but no tears came; he could only sit there, alone, waiting.
My name is Thomas, he thought.
That... that was the only thing he could remember about his life.
He didn't understand how this could be possible. His mind functioned without flaw, trying to calculate his surroundings and predicament. Knowledge flooded his thoughts, facts and images, memories and details of the world and how it works. He pictured snow on trees, running down a leaf-strewn road, eating a hamburger, the moon casting a pale glow on a grassy meadow, swimming in a lake, a busy city square with hundreds of people bustling about their business.
And yet he didn't know where he came from, or how he'd gotten inside the dark lift, or who his parents were. He didn't even know his last name. Images of people flashed across his mind, but there was no recognition, their faces replaced with haunted smears of color. He couldn't think of one person he knew, or recall a single conversation.
The room continued its ascent, swaying; Thomas grew immune to the ceaseless rattling of the chains that pulled him upward. A long time passed. Minutes stretched into hours, although it was impossible to know for sure because every second seemed an eternity. No. He was smarter than that. Trusting his instincts, he knew he'd been moving for roughly half an hour.
Strangely enough, he felt his fear whisked away like a swarm of gnats caught in the wind, replaced by an intense curiosity. He wanted to know where he was and what was happening.
With a groan and then a clonk, the rising room halted; the sudden change jolted Thomas from his huddled position and threw him across the hard floor. As he scrambled to his feet, he felt the room sway less and less until it finally stilled. Everything fell silent.
A minute passed. Two. He looked in every direction but saw only darkness; he felt along the walls again, searching for a way out. But there was nothing, only the cool metal. He groaned in frustration; his echo amplified through the air, like the haunted moan of death. It faded, and silence returned. He screamed, called for help, pounded on the walls with his fists.
Thomas backed into the corner once again, folded his arms and shivered, and the fear returned. He felt a worrying shudder in his chest, as if his heart wanted to escape, to flee his body.
"Someone... help... me!" he screamed; each word ripped his throat raw.
A loud clank rang out above him and he sucked in a startled breath as he looked up. A straight line of light appeared across the ceiling of the room, and Thomas watched as it expanded. A heavy grating sound revealed double sliding doors being forced open. After so long in darkness, the light stabbed his eyes; he looked away, covering his face with both hands.
He heard noises above--voices--and fear squeezed his chest.
"Look at that shank."
"How old is he?"
"Looks like a klunk in a T-shirt."
"You're the klunk, shuck-face."
"Dude, it smells like feet down there!"
"Hope you enjoyed the one-way trip, Greenie."
"Ain't no ticket back, bro."
Thomas was hit with a wave of confusion, blistered with panic. The voices were odd, tinged with echo; some of the words were completely foreign--others felt familiar. He willed his eyes to adjust as he squinted toward the light and those speaking. At first he could see only shifting shadows, but they soon turned into the shapes of bodies--people bending over the hole in the ceiling, looking down at him, pointing.
And then, as if the lens of a camera had sharpened its focus, the faces cleared. They were boys, all of them--some young, some older. Thomas didn't know what he'd expected, but seeing those faces puzzled him. They were just teenagers. Kids. Some of his fear melted away, but not enough to calm his racing heart.
Someone lowered a rope from above, the end of it tied into a big loop. Thomas hesitated, then stepped into it with his right foot and clutched the rope as he was yanked toward the sky. Hands reached down, lots of hands, grabbing him by his clothes, pulling him up. The world seemed to spin, a swirling mist of faces and color and light. A storm of emotions wrenched his gut, twisted and pulled; he wanted to scream, cry, throw up. The chorus of voices had grown silent, but someone spoke as they yanked him over the sharp edge of the dark box. And Thomas knew he'd never forget the words.
"Nice to meet ya, shank," the boy said. "Welcome to the Glade."
From the Hardcover edition.