Today I have been re-living the wonders of Lost Art. At work a woman stumbled across this gorgeous pink book and remembered how amazing an experience reading it had been. She remembers parts with mystical happiness, a half-remembered dream-like story line. A world of rooms, a crumbling mansion and champagne at the Ritz. It's amazing the things we remember from novels we loved, novels we wanted to live within. All of a sudden I was swept up into a wonderful memory of reading this book, and if I wasn't reading something quite wonderful right now, I would be opening the book to a random page and sinking into all over again. Like one friend mentioned today when talking of Gone with the Wind this is the one book I can finish and start all over again immediately. No need for a break, or even a moment to try and forget the plot twist or anything, as this novel, I believe only gets better with re-reading.
Books, I think, are the only products that can literally make you want to leap within the story, with films I always feel slightly removed, but with a book, if you bring it up high enough, all you can see are the pages and the words. Life within the pages of a book can be so real, I wish to live within so many, it is a complete afflication. Hopefully, someone will find a cure or perhaps a way of jumping within those pages.
However, as I have nothing to say about my new book PopCo I will stop writing now.
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