you know that experience when you are deep into a book and it pulls you farther and farther down into its feeling, its undertone, its very soul...if books have souls? where you are wrapped up in the characters and the few moments in which you do pull your gaze off of the pages to get dressed, run an errand, or make a meal, you sit in silent thoughts, still living the story inside... moving through the motions but in a hazy half-consciousness? you dream the story in your dreams, in fits and wakes, unsure of the difference between reality and its shadow?
i often get absorbed in books this way. when i get 'into' a good book its as if i have literally slipped into the comfortable pages and closed it on top of me, staying enveloped inside the story until the last page has been read and i can step away and put it down without feeling an impossible thread pulling me back into its secrets.
until then, i am completely entangled in it, and its as if i have to shake myself awake and back to the present. it takes considerable strength to pull myself up out of the fog to my very real and tangible life. i suppose that means the author is very good, or that i am a strange punch-drunk enchanted reader. does this ever happen to you?
having time on my hands to read is both a blessing and a curse. like many others, i read late into the night and spend hours drinking in a book until i have tasted the last drop. i bet if i paced myself, read a little here and there, relished a book for a few weeks instead of a few days...the absorption wouldn't be so complete. i can't help myself.
some i've devoured lately:
The Lovely Bones, by Alice Sebold
Where is the Mango Princess, by Cathy Crimmins
Darling Jim, by Christian Moerk
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