…if only because you could read them again for the first time.
yes, those books. everyone has at least one.
when i start a new book, i never go in expecting not to absolutely love it. otherwise, why start (barring it being required reading, that is)? there’s millions of books out there and limited time (almost no time now, with writing. sleep was the first to go, but since it’s a biological requirement, a line must be drawn somewhere). so always, always, i’m hoping to stumble on that rare spark again, whatever it is that takes a book beyond mere plot expressed in words, punched out to fill a page. most of these books ask for nothing more of me than the simple act of reading–a satisfaction equivalent to clearing a show off your pvr queue for the week, or buying a shirt simply because it’s on sale and not because you fell in love with it.
but, those books. injested, absorbed, inhaled. where turning the last page means more than just shuffling it from one column to another, the ones in your head labelled “to-be-read” and “read”. because you’re left adrift now, no longer part of a world that captivated you for a few hundred pages, where the hours flew by like minutes. you cling to the characters like friends you don’t want to say goodbye to. you want more.
here are just some of the books i wish i could rediscover again for the first time:
his dark materials–philip pullman
watership down–richard adams
lord of the rings trilogy–j.r.r. tolkien
the millenium series–stieg larsson
the eyes of the dragon/the stand/the body–stephen king
outlander series (1-4)–diana gabaldon
harry potter series-j.k. rowling