Something Wonderful Book

When I read Judith McNaught I feel like I'm transferred to some other dimension. So you have this huge 500 pages long book with pitiful title and a truly awful cover and yet I very much think about when it's the right time to start reading it, because her books consummate my time completely. I sincerely cannot think about anything else. It's drastic and extreme and I tell myself that during my weekends when I have enough time to go for a walk or for a swim because the sea is still very warm or to start playing tennis for fuck's sake, cause just behind my building are tennis courts, I need to do something more proactive and physical I end up carrying this book to toilet, hating myself that I can't stop myself from reading it slower. It's mind numbing and I feel very stiffened and my muscles are atrophying.

And then I think how come she is not more popular, because she is brilliant. And I'm hooked. It's the same as with Pat Conroy. I've been delaying reading his 'The prince of tides' for years. Every time I see it in the library I say next month, or next year, and I know that when I get my hands on that book, I won't leave my flat for days because Conroy's geniusness makes my skin ache. I have a friend who said the same thing about Conroy, who as well had been studying in Citadel just like Conroy and he's very proud of his military ring, but even he who is ruthless when we play social games like Pictionary because the way his mind works is utterly strange because his instincts and creativity are immaculate and eyes widening, this friend of mine says that when he reads Conroy he feels violated but in a good way. He can take him in small dozes. I can take Conroy in small dozes. Just as Marilynne Robinson and William Trevor and Flannery O'Connor and Raymond Carver. Because they are all - too much. They are too good, but too sad and too realistic. I adore each one of them and I'll read them repeatedly.

McNaught isn't making the same effect on me, but it's very close in a different way. She makes me fall in love with reading. Again and again. I adore her characters and these perpetual and fatigued games they play with each other. She writes about romance troubles and rakes and dukes and scoundrels and virgins and tons and castles and field fighting and society rules and naive girls and bad steel gray eyed men and all these books they could have been very flat and with flaws and books for spinsters with cats, and there you would have a problem if you looked at them like this, but truth to be said Judith McNaught writes utterly spectacular stories which make me scream with laughter and enjoy them immensely.

This is why I'll never write an insincere review because you can say that 500 pages of romance book is easy to write because you obviously just need rakes and dukes and scoundrels and virgins and tons and castles and field fighting and society rules and naive girls and bad steel gray eyed men, but to melt all of the written into something wonderful really is Something Wonderful.