Sean Gibson
Thanks for the question, Jacob! I assume we’re looking for a more sophisticated response than Fox in Socks, though that one’s hard to beat.
Let me complicate a very straightforward question by saying that I’m ruling ineligible for my response any book that’s part of a series. “That seems unduly draconian, Big Nose,” you might opine, and you would certainly be justified in holding that opinion, both about my exclusion of series books and the proportions of my proboscis. That said, the reason for that exclusion is that I find it impossible to judge a book in a series solely on its own merit; it is inextricably bound up with and linked to the events that happen in the other books in the series, events that inform your response to the book upon first read and shade your memory and perception of it after you’ve read subsequent volumes. For example, I would probably say that GOBLET OF FIRE is my favorite Harry Potter book, but perhaps my love for that book is, at least in part, a result of the buildup to it in the preceding three books and knowing the impact Voldemort’s return at the book’s end will have on future tales.
(Should I have marked that as a spoiler? I feel like that one’s pretty fair game at this point. Voldemort comes back, people.)
With that in mind, then, I shall limit the pool of potential candidates to stand-alone books, and while it is still an exceedingly difficult choice, if forced to select a single tome at feather end (which I find a much safer, if no less daunting, prospect than being held at gunpoint, tickling being an intense and sometimes unwelcome sensation), I would say Bram Stoker's DRACULA.
Why Dracula? I’m glad you asked.
(Wait, what? You didn’t ask and I’m just rambling on assuming that people care? Hmm. Well, fair enough.)
I first encountered Dracula as a precocious second grader. While I wouldn’t recommend that most 8-year-olds read a book that’s likely to give them nightmares, if not force them into years of therapy (or, at least, force them to look up every other word), I was hooked from the get-go by a book whose style and plot resonated from page one. For whatever reason, the ornate language, shiver-inducing slow-burn buildup, and terrifying prospect of one of fiction’s most fascinating villains appealed to me so much that, 10 years later, I would make Victorian lit the primary focus of my collegiate career as an English literature major (though, to be fair, the subsequently read works of Dickens and Conan Doyle played a major—pun fully intended—role in that decision).
Sure, the book is laden with Victorian melodrama and weird psychosexual shenanigans, but I love that stuff (well, the Victorian melodrama, at least). I’d be hard pressed to think of another single book that pulled me so fully and completely into its world and left me breathless at its conclusion.
Turnabout’ fair play, loyal readers—what is YOUR single favorite book? Let us know in the comments below!
Let me complicate a very straightforward question by saying that I’m ruling ineligible for my response any book that’s part of a series. “That seems unduly draconian, Big Nose,” you might opine, and you would certainly be justified in holding that opinion, both about my exclusion of series books and the proportions of my proboscis. That said, the reason for that exclusion is that I find it impossible to judge a book in a series solely on its own merit; it is inextricably bound up with and linked to the events that happen in the other books in the series, events that inform your response to the book upon first read and shade your memory and perception of it after you’ve read subsequent volumes. For example, I would probably say that GOBLET OF FIRE is my favorite Harry Potter book, but perhaps my love for that book is, at least in part, a result of the buildup to it in the preceding three books and knowing the impact Voldemort’s return at the book’s end will have on future tales.
(Should I have marked that as a spoiler? I feel like that one’s pretty fair game at this point. Voldemort comes back, people.)
With that in mind, then, I shall limit the pool of potential candidates to stand-alone books, and while it is still an exceedingly difficult choice, if forced to select a single tome at feather end (which I find a much safer, if no less daunting, prospect than being held at gunpoint, tickling being an intense and sometimes unwelcome sensation), I would say Bram Stoker's DRACULA.
Why Dracula? I’m glad you asked.
(Wait, what? You didn’t ask and I’m just rambling on assuming that people care? Hmm. Well, fair enough.)
I first encountered Dracula as a precocious second grader. While I wouldn’t recommend that most 8-year-olds read a book that’s likely to give them nightmares, if not force them into years of therapy (or, at least, force them to look up every other word), I was hooked from the get-go by a book whose style and plot resonated from page one. For whatever reason, the ornate language, shiver-inducing slow-burn buildup, and terrifying prospect of one of fiction’s most fascinating villains appealed to me so much that, 10 years later, I would make Victorian lit the primary focus of my collegiate career as an English literature major (though, to be fair, the subsequently read works of Dickens and Conan Doyle played a major—pun fully intended—role in that decision).
Sure, the book is laden with Victorian melodrama and weird psychosexual shenanigans, but I love that stuff (well, the Victorian melodrama, at least). I’d be hard pressed to think of another single book that pulled me so fully and completely into its world and left me breathless at its conclusion.
Turnabout’ fair play, loyal readers—what is YOUR single favorite book? Let us know in the comments below!
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