I’m about to sound super nerdy …
There is absolutely nothing like a good book.
As most of you who frequent this blog have noticed, I’ve been crazily engulfed in the Twilight series the last few weeks (though I’m nearing the end) and I have the Sookie Stackhouse books already on the back burner for the moment I read the last lines of Breaking Dawn. And sometimes I tend to forget how much I truly enjoy reading; how much I love getting entirely swept away by the fiction on the page.
Sitting down to watch a movie is great. Playing a video game is a ton of fun. But, if you ask my dork self, they don’t even compare to using my own imagination as I sift through the pages of a good piece of fiction. There’s seriously nothing as enjoyable whatsoever, and I often forget that fact, foregoing books for months at a time, instead choosing evenings at the bar or non-stop Guitar Hero nights. But the moment a decent novel makes its way into my hands again, I instantly remember all I love about getting lost in the written word.
However, with this comes a downfall; I tend to get a bit carried away.
When an amazing text comes along, I selfishly throw everything else to the wayside, wanting nothing more than to find out “what happens next.” And in my journey to read each page, I push things aside such as restaurant outtings, fun with friends, quality time with the boyfriend, sleep, etc. etc. Somehow – and this insanely occurred with Twilight – I become so completely engrossed in the book that I decide little else matters ’til I’m finished. Discovering the plot in its entirety moves to the forefront and I absolutely have to read every single word before I can think about rejoining society.
Is it truly possible to get so caught up in a book that reality no longer matters? That you can’t tear your mind away from the plot long enough to function properly in the real world? Because I seriously think it’s an issue I encounter whenever a fascinating piece of literature comes along.
I suppose it’s one thing for a book to envelop you in that moment, where you would prefer not to turn your eyes away from the page. But it seems quite another to find it nearly impossible to stop thinking about plot developments, characters, and a fictional life that is completely unlike your own as you move through the day. Either this is a sign of nerdhood at its finest, complete with an overactive, unwavering imagination, or it’s the true test for a remarkable text.
Does anyone else encounter this issue? Do you find it difficult to pull away from the book so tightly grasped between your hands and return to the mundane existence you actually live? There truly is nothing like being entirely overwhelmed by an amazing book, but is it possible to delve too far into the fiction when escaping reality?
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