It's no secret. I love to read.
As a child, I read to escape. Hungrily turning the pages of Laura Ingalls Wilder's Little House books, I'd imagine myself on the prairie high-stepping in deep drifts of blowing snow or struggling to guide the plow before my over-sized oxen team.
I recently saw the movie, Definitely, Maybe. One of the characters collected editions of Charlotte Bronte's Jane Eyre, and sure enough, in one scene she held up the same edition of Jane Eyre that I remember reading during eighth grade biology class. I hid it inside my biology binder until the teacher approached from across the room; I perfected the "slide-and-cover" maneuver and was never found out.
Some time ago, wanting to reacquaint myself with Jane, I purchased a newer, affordable paperback edition; I'm not sure I still have the older edition. Apparently, Barnes & Noble and Border's think that they have to "sell" the classics on the cheap so that people will read them. About a week ago, I cracked open the new book for my bedtime reading. I inhaled deeply and dove right in.
What a delightful read! Bronte's language is exquisite and I can appreciate it all over again even so many years later. I find myself trying to balance a voracious reading speed with the need to luxuriate in Bronte's beautiful writing. Jane came along with me on a business trip this past week; I read during breakfast, lunch, and dinner. No need to hide this book. What a delicious treat!
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