Lost in the Thirteenth Tale

I just got off the couch for what feels like the first time in 24 hours or so.

In reality, yesterday afternoon I roused myself to walk to Sunmart to get sugar and butter for the scones I intended to make later in the evening. (That has yet to happen, by the way.) Then, last night, Ashley called and I went to watch I.Q. with Ben, Ashley, and Heather. After returning home about midnight, I wasted no time in my return to the couch--a different one, but a couch none-the-less.

Most people who spend so much time in repose are ill.

I am not. Instead, I've been engrossed in a fantastic novel: The Thirteenth Tale, by Diane Setterfield.

Does that ever happen to you? Do you ever get so completely lost in a book that the real world must cease to exist for a time? My eyes remained glued to the pages as I stumbled through the house to let Teddy out; as I slowly walked to Sunmart for groceries; and as I "made" dinner, which meant microwaving something--I don't remember what (brussel sprouts? biscuits? strawberry-rhubarb sauce?)--and eating it slowly, without even knowing what I was doing.

I was so caught up in the story that nothing else mattered. I felt mildly relieved when Ashley called; I accepted her invitation to movie night hastily, glad for some tether to draw me back into a world that exists outside of the pages of a book. I was afraid that, without it, I'd be so far gone that I wouldn't be able to cope when the book inevitably ended. It was the kind of story that made sleep insignificant; I read until my eyes closed without my permission, and picked up the book again the moment they opened in the morning.

I read voraciously, until I'd consumed every delicious twist and surprise the tale could afford me, measuring minutes by page numbers and hours by the thickness of the pages remaining to the right.

It is a struggle to even describe the story to you, except to say that I would highly recommend it. If you are a reader, you will love this book. It is a mystery and a memoir and a biography and a tribute to classic literature all rolled into a novel. If you've loved, you should read this book. If you've lost, you should read this book. If you are a reader, you should read this book. It was phenomenal. How's that for vague, for ya?

This has been the summer of books for me. There really hasn't been that much else to do, I suppose. I'm in the middle of about four right now: a book-length interview with Bono, a memoir of a boy soldier, a picture-book of vintage t-shirts, Paradise for my fall lit class, Living Buddha, Living Christ, and Angela's Ashes on CD. Waiting patiently for my attentions are The Omnivore's Dilemma; The Joy Luck Club; all the Harry Potter books; Animal, Vegetable, Miracle; The United States of Arugula; and Anne Lamott's latest book on faith. I've read some of the best books of my life recently--The Irresistable Revolution by Shane Claiborne, The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffeneger, Sex God by Rob Bell, The Giver by Lois Lowry...

Every year, first through eighth grade, my elementary school librarian wrote the same note in my yearbook. I was a frenzied reader even as a child; I remember as early as the second grade being the only one in my class allowed to leave the children's section during library time. I'd consumed everything Janette Oke has ever written by half-way through grade four. I read C.S. Lewis' Space Triology in fifth grade. I took to reading the library's new books before the librarian, Mrs. Lofthouse, had even had a chance to get them into the computer.

Mrs. Lofthouse assigned a number for each child--mine was 323--and taped the printed number and corresponding bar code to a paint stick for each of us. We didn't have library cards--we had paint sticks that were handed to us when our class arrived for library time. The sticks were designed so that, when you wanted to take a book from the shelf, you slid the stick between the chosen book and the one beside it before removing the book you wanted. This way, we learned to put the books back in their proper places. My paint stick never seemed to leave the "813" section of the library--the literature and fiction. I'm certain I read at least 90% of what the library stocked in that section. "I'll have it back tomorrow," I'd promise. And I usually did.

Mrs. Lofthouse, every year, wrote in my yearbook, "Katie--Expand your horizons!" By this she meant "learn to read something other than fiction."

I'd thought I'd grown out of my ability to read a 400-page book in less than 24 hours. I thought that my tendency to absolutely lose myself in a novel had been lost in my exploration of the real world out there; I don't tend to lose track of time in non-fiction, and that's most of what I read now.

Obviously, I'm still perfectly able to shut out the world in favor of the treasures within a book's pages.

I have expanded my horizons. I read nearly everything now; I hit the "spirituality" section of the used bookstore first almost every time, followed by the cookbooks, and the biographies, and then the literature. I read with a much more open mind now, thanks to Mrs. Lofthouse's persistent admonitions.

But I'm glad to know that, every so often, I may stumble upon a novel that makes me wake up the morning after finishing it wondering what the characters are doing now. I may still find books that so involve me in their plots that my own life takes a back seat to the ones in the pages. My expanded horizons can include horizons that don't, in reality, exist--except in the imagination of a brilliant author, and through his or her writing, in mine.