There is so much more to a book than just the reading
– Maurice Sendak
Truer words have never been said. I can’t put into words how I feel about books. I guess like any other child I owe my first reading experience to the Grimm brothers. The magic started from there and I think its safe to say it hasn’t stopped yet and hopefully never will. After them I started off with Roald Dahl and Enid Blyton. How can I explain what goes on in my head when I read? It’s like I am lost in a whole different world. Away from the misery, the troubles and the pains of the real one. This is a feeling I guess many people have described in these very words.
Reading opens up new portals into vast, different worlds, where every impossibility is a possibility. The character come to life and the emotional attachments readers develop with them can only be severed by the one constant in this universe death. A constant that is in every world. Real or unreal. When that attachment is severed I can say from personal experience that the agony is like no other. I have cried over the deaths of friends and family. And I have cried over the death of characters. And the emotions that I felt during both were the same in feeling and force.
Books transport us either into the halcyon days of the glorious past of say the Roman Empire or the alacritous days of the New Republic or something entirely beautiful or unique. I read a book once Eragon by Christopher Paolini. I fell in love with the characters, the story line, everything. Everyday after I finished reading it, I would make my own sequel, form my own new characters with the old ones and like it is with books and how they play like a symphony of the most amazing shots in existence. It was my own little world. Still is. The sequels came out I evolved my characters on them. Yet that world stays alive. I hate Paolini for his last book but I love him for giving me the gift that is this world. Just as I thank Eoin Colfer for giving me the gift of another world and Anthony Horowitz for another. I could go on.. But this is just sci-fi. I thank Jeffery Archer for his engrossing look into a whole different world than my own though very real. Mario Puzo for instilling in me a profound sense of what love is with Dark Arena and for showing romance writer around the world that love stories need not be sappy.
I feel overwhelmed as I write this because I just cannot express how I feel about books. There are books like The Alchemist and Children of Dust which have enlightened me in ways which I cannot express. There are books which have given me lifelong friends like Claire who resides in every world I have created. There are books which have given me sorrows like the death of Anakin Solo which I will never get over. Nicholas Sparks has given me the opportunity to break the wall that stops my agony from pouring out. L.M. Montgomery, Francis Hodsgon Burnette, Louisa May Alcott are people who made me fall in love with their little worlds, made me feel like a child again, made me feel the sorrow of children and adults alike, made me see into an era past and feel like I had seen it.
Books are magic. I’ll never find words to truly express how I feel.