I love to read. You may or may not have noticed that, you may have guessed that, or you may have simply inferred that I was born with a dictionary near my head instead of a fluffy pink pillow, which served the purpose of making me both eloquent and long-winded.
Or perhaps you just glided over this, I'd understand.
At any rate, I love to read. It is rare when a good book comes along, one which hijacks the body and mind and must be read through and through once the first chapter has been read. When this good book comes along and you have the fortune (or misfortune) of happening upon it ALL HELL BREAKS LOOSE.
Pardon my loud and angry shouting.
Today, I have been reading such a book. I started it some time ago, found my way back into college for the last semester of my second year, and had to put it on hold.
Horrifying.
The book continued to call to me. I will not tell you the name of the book (but I will tell you that Wilbur Smith is quite possibly one of the greatest storytellers this world has ever seen), so there. I will tell you that it called to me on my cell phone, my room phone, my house phone, and the campus intercom system.
That's a problem.
Alcoholics have beer. I have good books.
(envision me crying, sobbingly confessing, a broken man)
I've started. . . sneaking it in . . . in between classes . . . oh I'm so ashamed! I hold off on sleep just to read one more chapter! I don't talk to people because I have to keep reading it! IT IS THAT GOOD!!! OH I DISGUST MYSELF!!!
All self-loathing apart, there is something magical about this. When you've found a story so enticing and so beautiful that it simply draws you completely into its world, you know that there are books worth reading.
There is also something problematic about this: the more you read on, the more you feel the need to finish the darn thing. What can be the greatest problem is that every page you turn feels as though it were turned the other way; every chapter you read has not gotten you any closer to the end. Something will always pop up and keep you from going any further.
For instance:
I am about thirty pages away from the end of my book. The final problem as appeared, people are rushing to and fro, desperate to resolve the situation. Good and evil are clashing, love is at stake, lives could be lost, and the world is holding its breath.
Of course, a teacher tells us all to pay attention so I am forced to put the book away. Such a pity.
The drive to know what will happen next, and will everyone live happily ever after (excluding the villian), can be all-consuming. You must know, you have to know - but the end of the book may not be more than thirty pages away to you and seems like a thousand pages. This is distressing.
You have to know.
You must know.
There is only one way.
Somehow . . . someway . . . you must finish that book.
I suggest we both hop to it.
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