I love a fat book. I have no problem putting down any book I am not enjoying, but if it’s a GOOD book, I hate it if it’s thin. I slow down my reading. I count the pages until the end and then break it down into daily parcels in an attempt to make it last longer. Of course, if it’s a fat book, I’ll do the same thing on nearing the end, but a fat book at least delivers a lot if you are enjoying it. You feel as though you got your money’s worth. You feel as though you’ve been on an adventure. A proper adventure, lasting days or even weeks, not a scant few hours.
A fat book is better than a movie, sometimes. You go to sleep at night, wondering what’s going to happen in the morning, exactly as the characters would. You are, in effect, travelling with them. A film gives you all the visuals and no reading effort, but at the end of the day, you go to sleep thinking about the movie as a whole. It’s over, you enjoyed it, but you know how it ended now. With a book, you still have that anticipation, that worry over how the hero’s going to make it through in the end – if he or she will make it in the end. You’re wondering how. You don’t know, at that stage, how you will be at the end of it. Will you be elated? Brought low? Defeated? Or will you win? Will you come away absolutely delighted and wanting more, or will you be disappointed. You don’t know.