Recently I read a book and was surprised to find how easily it absorbed me. I was surprised mostly at how easily I slipped back into the temporary cocoon of reading, of being utterly absorbed by it, uneasy to be away from it, impatient to return to it.
I was surprised not because it did all those things but because I'd forgotten the magnetism of a good book.
Unsurprisingly, I am a bookworm; I have spent much of my life curled up away from the reality with my head in a book. It's just been a long time since I allowed myself the luxury of reading like that.
While it's wonderful to pause and consider that reading - that all too often forgotten pastime - is a luxury, I won't get caught up in that ramble today. Instead, I ask you, do you love to read? And if so, what's on your reading list? I have many books, some old, some new; some gifts, some not; all thought upon, considered, and put away until I can give them my full attention. I hope that time is drawing near.
And there's a healthy dose of fiction too; a few Man Booker novels and some more lighthearted stuff. Although if [Man booker nominee] We Are All Completely Beside Ourselves has taught me anything, it's that brilliant, prize-winning novels are always devastatingly sad too. I read the above on a plane; I gave up being discreet and the tears rolled unhindered down my cheeks, accompanied by great sniffs. So. damn. sad.