There are plenty of good books, but finding books that capture you in a tight grip, and don’t let you go right until the end are rare. I love it when it happens – starting a story, and then simply being obsessed with it; unable to put it down until it’s finished. And feeling a little sad when it does. Some may call it unhealthy or weird to want that kind of obsession, but the readers I am sure will understand.
It’s about the stories. The stories that transport us to a different world – the world in the pages – in such a powerful way that we are almost deceived we are there. Characters are not merely fiction then, but people we care about. Their lives matter to us. When they laugh, we laugh with them, and when they are hurt, we hurt too.
I love finding books with that kind of power. But because there are no guarantees, and because it’s rare for that to happen, sometimes when I want that kind of heavy-impact book, instead of risking a new book that I may or may not fall in love with, I return to my old favourites.
A part of me – the greedy reader who wants to devour every book out there – is aware that by re-reading books, I am missing out on reading something new. But going back to old favourites is like talking to old friends. Yes, the new friends may be exciting because there is so much to discover, but it’s the old friends who know where we come from, and what we’ve been through. Stories are the same. They stay with us from the first time we discover them, and as we change, the impact of the story changes too.