I read a lot. A lot.
Mostly it's fluffy fiction. So I don't have to think. I can just enjoy the narrative. Escapism? Yes, please.
I finished a book today around 2pm. 8 and a half hours later and I'm still thinking about it.
I went back and read the epilogue twice. Because the first time I read it, I was too disturbed by my interpretation. So I went back and bent the words into something more acceptable. I'm not sure I've ever done that before. My investment in the characters is such that I can't be at peace with my first reading. Too upsetting. Perfectly in line with the story, yes, but personally unacceptable to me.
I'm not really sure why I am so affected by this story. It's rough-edged and sometimes winding, but, goddamnit, I can't get it out of my mind. My heart aches for Sam and Deanie (Jesus.). It doesn't help that Deanie is like every abused, neglected kid that comes into my office. I've ordered the rest of the books in this world.
Tabitha King has put a vapor lock on my consciousness right now. I'll be around later.