earlier I wrote about reviewing others’ works, and how difficult I find it. I wrote about losing myself in books, finding myself in books, falling in love with what I read, becoming spellbound. and the other day, while reading a book, I discovered the reason I’m not a book critic and why I react to books as I do.
it’s not earth shattering. in fact, it’s something we all innately sense. I’d just never heard–or read–it so beautifully put as I did by carlos ruiz zafon in his book, the shadow of the wind, when he wrote,
books are mirrors: you only see in them what you already have inside you.
ah. I read, I see, and I stay in that place, not able to tear myself away and pretend impartiality.
hold this thought; consider your most cherished books.