Some books are like an essence, so strong, unique and somewhat overpowering that a normal being needs to dilute it, subdue it or even understate it’s potential to be able to be in one’s control and still enjoy it’s beauty.
If on a winter’s night a traveller is an essence in it’s own category.
It would bedazzle you, haunt you and make you notice it’s beauty you so try to desist not because you don’t appreciate it but because it makes you feel utterly incapacitated and swamped by all that it has to offer.
It would take you through a journey of beautiful vistas and panoramas and just when you start to enjoy your view it would jerk you, throwing you completely off-balance by a sudden bend in the road which would not be a continuation but a flight to another planet altogether.
And very soon you would be looking forward to the bends, the twists and the turns that make it’s reading a unique worthwhile experience never to be forgotten.
From the very beginning where it stars as to how to read a book to the various nuances of the publishing world, it connects with the Reader making him not only the hero but also the sole decider of the fate of most writers.
The ingenuity of the book lies in searching and finding your own identity as a Reader.
It’s a masterpiece of a book with a philosophy so deep that you be compelled to return and savour that taste of innocent, soulful reading that comes naturally to you and takes you to your own special place unknown and hidden from the rest of the world.