|my favorite reading corner, too many books stacked on the floor|
But I'm a genre
I have quite a few books I read over and over: Midworld by Alan Dean Foster, Childhood's End by Arthur C. Clark, the Assassin/Fool series by Robin Hobb, The Last Unicorn by Peter S. Beagle, Speaker for the Dead by Orson Scott Card, Use of Weapons by Iain Banks.
But often on a rainy day when I've finished the most recent Alistair Reynolds, or put away the Charles Stross, I pick up an old favorite. That I've read I think every year since it was published in 1989.
And it is NOT me. People find it odd that it is my favorite book. But it is the book I'd take to a desert island, or read when I need 600+ pages of comfort. John Irving's A Prayer for Owen Meany.
Now I do love most of the weird worlds Jonathan Irving invents (he is not science fiction, just general fiction and amazing characters). Most people would be familiar maybe with Irving's The World According to Garp, from the movie version, because who can pass up a young Robin Williams and cross-dressing John Lithgow?
But it is A Prayer for Owen Meany that is lodged in my heart. I KNOW these characters. I can picture every moment. I would play their games and go to their Christmas pageant and have a stuffed armadillo. I ridiculously cry at the sad points I KNOW are coming since I've read it 20+ times. It has a religious main character, which I am decidedly NOT. So why?
Who knows. That is what a good book does. Stays with you. Resonates within some hidden place inside. What's your book?
First lines: "I am doomed to remember a boy with a wrecked voice—not because of his voice, or because he was the smallest person I ever knew, or even because he was the instrument of my mother's death…" Intrigued? Read it yourself.