With the recent release of A Perfect Blood, I’m reminded of the high low of reading. I am always impatient when it comes to The Hollows. I adore the landscape and characters, this unique mix of typical devices that are somehow transformed in new and exciting ways. It’s one of those books that put me on the edge of euphoria around the time the release is due.
I am always on the hunt for my next great read, or an errant early shelved copy of a book I can’t wait to covet. It’s that thrilling anticipation and acquirement of your latest literary love, then the sound of a cracking spine and hearing it say FINALLY. Appeasing my appetite for words delving and devouring them, as a PacMan would, gulping little balls of light. Turning pages is like unveiling a secret you’ve been longing to be let in on. Because at that moment a book feels like a breath you’re unaware of how you lived without.
And then it’s over.
After the high must come the low. That down feeling that comes with the happy yet not quite satisfied feeling, because a really good book never feels like enough. A good story is an amusement park in words and you can’t wait to get on your favorite ride again and again, to feel the rush, thrill, and abrupt stop all over.
