Some of my most favorite books are slow, almost plodding, reads.
Ruth M. Arthur's A Candle in Her Room comes to mind. So does the Laura Ingalls Wilder series. And Gone with the Wind. And The Three Musketeers. And Jane Eyre. And Dracula.
Ruth M. Arthur's A Candle in Her Room comes to mind. So does the Laura Ingalls Wilder series. And Gone with the Wind. And The Three Musketeers. And Jane Eyre. And Dracula.
They're the type of stories that, instead of racing to the end of the book to see what happens, entice you to read even more slowly so as to prolong the experience. The ending, when it does happen, happens too quickly.
It appears those types of "I want to live in this world and never leave" type of stories are out of fashion.
It appears those types of "I want to live in this world and never leave" type of stories are out of fashion.
When did we lose this? Or does no one like a slow immersion anymore?
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