Palpable pleasure

Well, I've spent the morning in bed with a phenomenal lover. Several 'oh God's were uttered.

No, get your mind out of the gutter, I'm talking about a book. I know, I know, not your typical Don Juan, but hear me out. This book was so mind-boggingly amazing that it took me out of this world. Well, many books do that, but this one was so...perfect, so fantastically well-written that I felt an explosion in my soul.
I'm not exaggerating either. I felt a real roller coaster of feelings – joy, love, anger, wild fits of laughter as well as a lot of crying. I was finishing the book, so that explains it. And I felt amazing, for some two hours I felt like the luckiest girl in the world. Simply because I had the privilege of reading this book.
Actually no, scratch that, it wasn't 'simply' at all. It was so complex and mind-blowing. It was a moment (well, a few moments to tell the truth) when I was fucking glad to be alive. It filled me with so much energy and genuine lust for life.
It was...an experience.

And I think about that and I realize that many people wouldn't even call that an experience. They're wrong, of course. But many wouldn't even understand what the big deal is about books. So you read a story, big whoop.
It doesn't work that way. And I'm sure the readers out there as well as the writers (okay scratch that too, how the hell could one be a writer without being a reader first?) know exactly what I'm talking about.
As I read, I kept thinking that this is breathtaking, that I can just sit in my bed, under the covers 'cause it's cold, and escape to another world. It's like flying, only ten times better.

I can't fly, but I don't need to. I doubt anything could be quite as cool as reading a phenomenal book. No, not even good sex. And I'm not one to normally knock good sex. Drink? Not even close. Drugs? I don't know, never having done any, but I highly doubt it. Being in love? Maybe, but reading is being in love. It's being in love with words, with the structure of a sentence, a really great comeback or a great plot twist.

And to think that so many people...willingly miss out on that. It's very annoying to think about it. I see people on Facebook posting about how important it is to read – people who haven't picked up a book in years. And it's even more irritating, not because they're faking, but because they're going by the immense pleasure that is reading and they don't even care.
Of course, telling them that doesn't usually earn you points. I did snap at someone once, someone who was telling me all the books he'd purchased. All the books I knew he'd never actually read. And I told him so. Didn't go down well.

This is a plague, something that, for a young writer like myself, is painfully clear. I was actually talking to someone else about this, about my writing, and he said 'but people don't read anymore' and while I avoided that subject, it's too true. People – of all ages – are so lost in their feeds and in their coma-inducing TVs to even pick up a book. And it sucks, because society is getting dumbed down like a lot and why?

It's not even a sour-tasting medicine, it's the best thing in the world and yet you're willingly, happily passing it by. Why?

It's a crime. I'm sorry, I wish it wasn't, I wish I could forgive you, but I can't. I wish I could be more okay with people not reading. I wish I was exaggerating when I say it's criminal, but it is. You have the keys to all these amazing worlds and yet you never enter. You have so much potential that you waste...

Anyway, this is more or less a rant of a very impressed reader (and very daunted writer). I really felt like writing this down. In case you're wondering, the book I'm talking about is called 'The Labyrinth of Spirits', by Carlos Ruiz Zafon. I'm quite certain he's the best writer I've ever read (and I've read a fair few). A phenomenal book and the fourth in its series, so plenty to read back on, if you're interested.

Thank you for reading,