A giant overstuffed chair for curling up in and all the novels of the world at my fingertips. That's my idea of heaven. I'm an avid reader. Give me a hearty -- or a Hardy -- novel and a comfy place to park my tush and I am indeed blissful.
I have favorite authors but I'm always open to try someone new. I tend to balance my reading list with both classics and current releases. Unfortunately, I've too often been sucked into the hype of a "New York Times Bestseller" or "Named the Year's Best Novel by ..." or "Short-listed for the Booker Prize" blurb on the cover. Did we read the same book? After a disappointing contemporary novel, I retreat to Mr. Dickens or Ms. Austen. They never disappoint.
Like most of us, I want a good story, dimensional characters you can cheer for and cry with. My book selection process is a simple one: read the summary on the back cover, then thumb through, scanning a few random pages.
But I've recently been forced to add something new to the mix. Type size! How close will I have to hold the book to actually, well, read it? Will I need a magnifying glass to make it through the prologue? Think about the bottom lines of an eye chart. Now think about an entire chapter in that size. It's difficult to make out without squinting and crinkling my forehead.
Books will soon come with a warning label: Caution -- may cause unwanted wrinkles.
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