There's something strangely liberating about being a grown man with tears streaming down your face at 2am after reading a YA novel for the past four hours that you can't put down while the whole house sleeps: one son on the living room sofa, another in your bed next to a dog, next to your wife, the other dog snoring on the cold tile of the bathroom floor and who knows or really cares where the cat is. Probably creepily staring at you right now from wherever he is.
I will go to bed. But it's nice to read a good book. You know? It's nice to care deeply about fictional characters, who are secretly you and me and everyone we care deeply about in real life, in all its dog-hair-covered-dangling-legs-not-enough-room-in-the-bed imperfect perfection.
A good book lets you escape the real world, and when you return you appreciate it more.
Two thumbs up for good books. Two thumbs up for this one in particular.
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