There is a great deal of difference between an eager man who wants to read a book and a tired man who wants a book to read. ~G.K. Chesterton
I'm about to pay the biggest---and possibly the most outlandish---tribute to a book in my history of literary praise.
I've loved a lot of books, fallen for a ton of fictional characters. Countless stories have been engraved on my mind and heart.
But in the wake of the recent passing of my son-in-law, something landed on my heart with such a soft, loud touch that I was compelled to share it.
A book. A character. A friend.
I reviewed this novel before, but this mention of it is something different. A proof positive that books really are our friends, like they say.
This week, following the loss of my loved one, I found myself walking in circles, trying without success to focus on something, anything. I didn't feel like writing, but at the end of the day, I craved the pages of a book to escape into.
But which book? I couldn't bear tragic themes but I wasn't ready for happy themes either.
Instinctively, I marched to my room and plucked my copy of Notturno by Z. A. Maxfield from the bookshelf.
By instinctively, I mean there was no other book in my mind to choose. I mean the book, the characters, seemed to stand there on some imaginary sideline, waving me over, inviting me to wrap myself up in them. To comfort me.
I'm not doing a review of the book again. This is not a plug for the book, although it just might accidentally seem to be. LOL.
And I'm not showing you the sumptuous cover to promote the book...