I’ve always believed in monogamy.
And I’m not just talking about in marriage (although the love of my life and high-school sweetheart will celebrate our 11th anniversary in a couple weeks). I’m also referring to reading. One book at a time, thank you very much.
But lately, I’ve been bit a cheater.
I knew I was going to fall in love with the thriller when the person on the airline seat next to me squealed and held up the same book when she saw me pull out the page turner. “I’m a little obsessed with it,” she confessed, and then continued reading it through most of our five-hour flight.
Now I’m back home, suffering a major case of jet leg not aided by staying up way too late enthralled with Flynn’s work. This author, she’s a master at plotting. My mind is utterly blown. Seriously, go buy this book. Right now. I’ll wait here.
But I can’t take the time to reassemble my mind. I’m going to jump right back into “American Gods’ ” beckoning chapters. This one’s totally worth the late fees. It’s not the frenzied, up-all-hours passion of “Gone Girl.” It’s a slow burn.
And now a third love as entered my life. Actually, I should say re-entered. And this one, it’s a sweet heartbreaker. Each night I read to my 9-year-old daughter. Last night, we started a book that has never failed to capture (and later crush) my heart, “The Bridge to Terabithia.”
“Just one more chapter?” my girl asked me. I already was turning another page. And as I read it, I find myself thinking of other literary relationships I can’t wait to reignite and share with her. “Where the Red Fern Grows” might be next.
I guess it’s official. I’m a cheater.
How about you? How many tomes crowd your nightstand?