The Knife of Never Letting Go may well be the death of me. Okay, that's a tad melodramatic, huh? But I swear if this emotional gauntlet doesn't soon end...
I sat down last night with over an hour of time for "recreational" reading. Sounds heavenly, right? And yet I only managed about 20 minutes. Because I hit this scene that just devastated me. I just crumpled. Not outside physically crumpled. But inside, metaphorical implosion. And I just couldn't read on at that point. Just couldn't.
Yes, I'll be picking it back up today. Of course. I couldn't stop this ride if I wanted to. But it's got me thinking...why am I so emotionally invested in this book? Seems like a question that with a little self-knowledge I should be able to answer. But I can't.
Yes, I care about the characters. I do. But there have been plenty of other books in which I care deeply for the characters and still yet don't have this kind powerful reaction to reading.
Yes, the story is fast-paced and suspenseful. But I used to read "thrillers" on a regular basis. Every bit as fast-paced. Definitely suspenseful. But I never had this type of personal connection.
Yes, there is a big chunk of the picture missing. I'm anxious to find out the "why" of everything that is happening in the story. But I don't think that is the ultimate grip on me either.
Is it a massive combination of these and other factors? Or is it some intangible that I'll never quite understand? And does it really matter? Do I need to understand my reaction to somehow give it more credibility? I'm not sure that I do. The experience is real whether I can define it or not.
What about you? Have there been books that have just turned you into an ball of nerves? Where your emotional experiences with the book have felt nearly suffocating? And if so, could you even put your finger on why?
Maybe I'm just going off the deep end...