It is a universal truth that when a good book ends it leaves a reader distraught, lost, dazed, unhappy and unwilling, in some cases, to return to the real world. I, dear reader, often suffer from this malady.
There are a few stages to enjoying a book. Whenever I pick up a new book I’m filled with a mixture of apprehension and excitement (this mixture of emotions is not limited to reading only). Reading, unlike what most people think, is not just an act of picking up a book and going through it from beginning to end. At least, it isn’t for me. A lot of effort goes into reading a book. There is the physical effort - taking out time, making small notes in the margins, and holding the book or kindle (anything over 30 mins and I need two pillows under my arms now!). A good reader also invests himself/herself mentally and emotionally with the book. The first few chapters are the beginning of your relationship with the story, and if it’s a good one, by the middle of the book you’ll have a visual image of the setting and characters down to the very last detail. The characters become familiar and you find yourself taking sides. You’re afraid to turn the page when the going gets tough for a character you hold dear. You might scream with joy, exclaim with delight or pump your fists when the hero/heroine comes out successfully from the peril that loomed and lurked in their life. In short, if you’re a reader like me, you start living in another world which runs parallel to yours. And there are times, rare though they might be, when the book’s world tempts you to step into it.
Alas! That cannot be. All good things have to come to an end and so is the case with a good book. When I turn the last page of a book I’ve enjoyed and with whose characters I’ve developed a love and hate relationship, a strange sort of sadness comes over me. I feel lost for a few days and unable to pick up another book.
This might sound strange to a non-reader. When we are getting news 24/7 about all kinds of catastrophes and tragedies, how can a work of fiction make one feel complex emotions? My answer is simple. It can. Humans crave stories. We spin stories about tragedies and joy and hardships and success and tell them to each other. News is also a grotesque form of story and is something we watch and hear but don’t engage with. Images flash in front of our eyes of people and happenings but we don’t absorb their stories. Read a book by a black author and you’ll be able to understand the pain and urgency behind the Black Lives Matter movement. Read a dystopian novel and maybe you might not support dictators and fascist leaders. Read a collection of short stories by a local author and you’ll be able to identify with the scenarios in many of them. Read a fantasy or sci-fi novel for the sheer joy of being transported into fantastical worlds and if you read closely, you might spot many similarities with and ugly truths about the reality around you. Read a popular book; its themes and story might surprise you. Read a work of non-fiction without judgement and preconceived notions and your views on that particular topic might take a 180 degree shift.
Books can make you feel heavy duty emotions. The end of a book, like a relationship, leaves you in a bit of a limbo. I am still in the suffering mode as I finished two amazing books four days back. The next pile of books is stacked, not quite neatly, on my side table and I think it’s about time I take another leap of faith and immerse myself in a new world.
“Reading makes immigrants of us all. It takes us away from home, but more important it finds homes for us everywhere.” (Jean Rhys)
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