A good book seduces you.
It feels your fingers first, and slowly, without you noticing it, thrusts you into its depths. It makes you lie in its world, a distorted sense of reality and fantasy fuse into each other, and you are oblivious to both.
It makes you want to cuddle up under a blanket, and each time a page is to be turned your mind rages into battle with comfort. Your mind eventually wins, the world in the book being too irresistable, you pull your hand out of the blanket to turn the page.
A really good book makes you lose all sense of reality and fantasy. You become audience, enraptured in your mind's story telling, the voices and the eyes are all you feel. The hand comes out automatically, without comfort protesting, or even giving a slight whine. Your body becomes invisible. When you are jerked out of this world, you know what Buddha felt like in his ultimate state of concentration.
A brilliant book stops all time, reality and fantasy.
It makes sure you are still enraptured by it, even when your hands and eyes are not fixed upon it, even when every part of your body makes its awareness painfully obvious.
And in this gentle semi-consciousness, you are too detached even to think for your own.
I sometimes wish there was a book that could hold me so for eternity.

1 comment:

Sharan said...

The greatest books are those that make you sit up, pause, gather your thoughts and think. The greatest books are those that cant be taken in at more that 10-15 pages at a time. The greatest books are those that make you stop every now and then and think, 'wow!'
ps:Yes, I started Huxley recently!