I love massive books. Books so big, like bricks, you could drown yourself in a pool with them if you’re not careful. It’s not a healthy love, I’ll admit. It’s more like Stockholm Syndrome. Like a kidnapping victim who falls in love with his captor, these books capture and sequester my mind for so long that I begin to feel deluded that I love them more than anything else in the world.
When most people go on beach trips, they buy some trashy mystery or romance novel in the airport. Me? I cart K...
Published on January 28, 2016 09:00