Hmmm, I don’t think I’ve posted this before. I think I thought about it but then dismissed it, however if that’s not the case sorry for the repetition.
Whenever we walk into a bookshop there’s always a section that calls out to us. For my boyfriend it’s horror or film and for me it’s fantasy (well sci-fi/fantasy since Waterstone’s can’t be bothered to separate two completely different genres).
As soon as I step into the threshold my body goes to autopilot and in a matter of seconds I find myself facing Anne Mccaffrey, Terry Pratchett, Philip Pullman and Robert Jorden. These names are not just names, they are words that should make any fantasy lover tremble with excitement and all the names that surround them also contribute their fair share to the excitement.
I do not know why fantasy calls out to me more than any other genre, maybe it’s the tantalising promise of escaping to another world that doesn’t seem as mundane as the one we live in, maybe it’s the sheer excitement of ‘seeing’ magic happen right before my eyes.
When I was younger I was a devout reader of anything and everything and while I consider myself a devout reader now I do have to admit the diversity has diminished slightly. Whenever I venture into other genres I find that I miss the magic that is usually evident on every other page, while Misery by Stephen King was gripping I knew that by the end I’d be longing to jump into a whole different world.
This, of course, isn’t a criticism of the other genres, merely just pointing out the fact that each of us are partial to a different one.
Also, I’ll leave you with this random thought of mine…even if it might sound a bit stupid. Don’t you think a bookshelf is almost like a universe? Sure it’s a lot smaller than the real thing but within its confines it holds so many different worlds with so many people’s lives unfolding between the pages. It really is sort of remarkable.