Kfir Luzzatto's Blog

I'm excited to share that the first three books of my TESSA: Extra-Sensory Agent series have been adapted and re-released for young adult readers—now available as The Young Telepath series.

This project has been a long time coming.

Over the years, I've heard from many readers—especially parents, teachers, and teen fans—who were intrigued by the TESSA universe but felt that the original series (with its more mature tone) wasn't quite the right fit for a younger audience. That feedback stuck with me.

So I decided to do something about it.

The Young Telepath reimagines the original story from a YA perspective. In this version, Tessa is 16 years old, just discovering her telepathic abilities and navigating the shadowy world of psychic espionage. The core plot remains the same—but the voice, pacing, and emotional lens have been thoughtfully adapted to resonate with readers ages 13 and up.

This new edition is perfect for:
• Teen readers who love thrillers with a sci-fi twist
• Fans of stories like Stranger Things, Alex Rider, or The Maze Runner
• Adults who enjoyed the original and want to gift the story to younger readers

Now available:
• Tessa Rising – The Young Telepath Book 1
• Not Alone – The Young Telepath Book 2
• The Reckoning – The Young Telepath Book 3

You can find all three books here: 👉https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0FSXSJ6XX and wherever ebooks are sold.

If you've already read the TESSA series, there's no need to repurchase—unless you're curious to see how it's been reimagined or you'd like to introduce Tessa's world to a younger reader.

Thanks, as always, for being part of this journey. 

On August 31, 2025, one of the most groundbreaking and prolific writers, Chelsea Quinn Yarbro, passed away. I don't usually write eulogies or dwell on morbid topics, but this time it's different, and I see it as an opportunity to introduce this incredible author to my readers.

CQY unknowingly drew me into dark fantasy and horror with her immortal (note the pun) novel, DEAD & BURIED. Published in 1980, it redefined the pleasure of being terrorized through reading. Years later, as a small tribute to her, I titled my humorous dark fantasy series DEAD & BUSY.

She was also a very gracious person. Her introduction to the FEAR OF THE UNKNOWN anthology, which I co-edited with Monica O'Rourke, exemplifies how a well-known and accomplished author can discuss the work of less prominent writers without sounding condescending. It also summarizes her approach to horror literature:

"Like most forms in fiction, horror is harder to do than it looks. It takes a special kind of nerve as well as a special restraint to pull off the real achievement of horror—an actual squeam, that inward delicious shudder that devolves from the thrill without actual reality of danger: when you are not in true peril, being scared can be fun."

Chelsea Quinn Yarbro is no longer with us, but her extensive body of work—100 novels and an equal number of short stories—remains, and I highly recommend you explore it if a healthy shudder is something you enjoy.

She will be missed.

This is a test, kind of. Read the following paragraph and see what it reminds you of.

"It was the Chinese government's unwillingness to admit they were faced with a problem they couldn't master that's got them in the worst of this mess.' Ann said: 'How did they possibly imagine they could keep it a secret?' John shrugged. 'They had abolished famine by statute – remember? And then, things looked easy at the beginning. They isolated the virus within a month of it hitting the rice-fields. They had it neatly labelled – the Chung-Li virus. All they had to do was to find a way of killing it which didn't kill the plant. Alternatively, they could breed a virus-resistant strain. And finally, they had no reason to expect the virus would spread so fast."

Sounds familiar, right? You might think those lines refer to the 2020 COVID pandemic. In reality, that paragraph was taken from the first chapter of John Christopher's 1956 novel, The Death of Grass.

I remember reading this novel when I was a teenager and feeling how real it seemed, not just in its portrayal of the pandemic's spread but also in the way people responded to it, both at the governmental level and personally. I reread it now, and its impact has increased significantly. The main character, John Custance, is a genuinely decent person—a middle-class civil servant and father of two children. By the end of the novel, however, he has committed murder and executed several people in quite gruesome ways.

Confronted with the pandemic, the English government also loses its cool. I won't include a spoiler here, but I can say its actions are outrageous; yet on another level, they make a disturbing kind of sense.

COVID mandates, anyone?

I have argued before that science fiction novels often serve as warnings about future events, and that the ideas behind them are somehow leaked to the author, unbeknownst to him or her, from the future (for a full discussion of this topic, see The Science of Premonition on this blog). The examples are too numerous to ignore, and The Death of Grass is a compelling illustration. Unfortunately, those warnings are so vague and unfocused that they are completely useless.

There's an ancient tradition of giving useless advice. In ancient Greco-Roman times, the Sibyls were oracles who made predictions using mysterious and poetic language that could be hard to understand. They usually spoke in a type of poetry called hexameter, and their prophecies were recorded in collections known as the "Sibylline Books." They intended for their messages to be unclear on purpose; this preserved the oracle's mysterious reputation and allowed people to interpret them in various ways depending on the situation and time. The reason for this vagueness stemmed from the belief that divine knowledge is beyond human grasp, so they wrapped their predictions in symbols and stories. In doing so, they could protect important truths and avoid being proven wrong. Due to this uncertainty, their prophecies could be interpreted in many ways, helping the oracle maintain its reputation regardless of how things actually turned out.

I cannot help but wonder whether the origin of the myth of the Sibyls could be rooted in similar experiences—storytelling that predicted a disaster but described it in unclear terms, only to be understood after it was too late for the warning. 

Back to Christopher. He couldn't know that the idea behind his novel would turn it into a sibylline prediction. He also didn't realize in 1956 that by the 1990s, concerns about the safety of our crops—without which we cannot survive—would become painfully real with the rise of genetically modified crops, the spread of monoculture, and other issues. Reading the novel now, with all that knowledge at hand, makes the drastic collapse of the supply chain it predicts and his depiction of a devastated world feel uncomfortably plausible.

If there is one conclusion we can draw from all this, it is that we should probably reread the classics of science fiction regularly to prepare for real threats looming over us. 

I have hesitated to write about this subject, which carries a stigma; yet some facts are difficult to ignore. If you continue reading, you'll see what I mean.

In his excellent investigative book, The Premonitions Bureau, Sam Knight explores the true story of a short-lived British government experiment from the 1960s that attempted to scientifically study precognition—the ability to foresee future events—and whether it could be harnessed to prevent disasters. The book treats premonitions seriously, examining the real cases of individuals who had eerily accurate forewarnings of tragedies. It raises the possibility that human intuition or unconscious sensing might tap into patterns or cues that precede disasters. The book's bottom line is that premonitions undeniably occur, but nobody knows when or to whom they will manifest, or why.

Premonitions You Have Heard About

One of the most famous premonitions is Abraham Lincoln's prediction of his assassination. Just three days before his death, he shared a dream with his friend and biographer, Ward Hill Lamon, in which he was killed. On the night he went to Ford's Theatre, Lincoln also spoke with his bodyguard, William H. Crook, about having the same dream for three consecutive nights. As he left the White House, he bid Crook farewell with a "Goodbye" instead of his usual "Good night."

Premonitions are numerous and well-documented. Therefore, there must be a reasonable explanation for them. I will propose a possible one, so keep reading.

Unhelpful Premonitions

Some premonitions have saved their recipients from death, such as the inexplicable urge not to board a plane that then crashed. However, when a premonition occurs years before the incident, there is no immediate connection to the event. Thus, the plot thickens: premonitions may come to you without your realizing it. Therefore, they are arguably completely useless; yet they may be more common than we think.

An obscure writer named Morgan Robertson had a premonition of the Titanic disaster without even realizing it. In 1898—more than 14 years before the Titanic sank—he published a book called Futility. The book focuses on an ocean liner, claimed to be unsinkable, that lacks enough lifeboats and sinks into the cold waters of the North Atlantic after colliding with an iceberg. The ship was named The Titan. No one could have derived a practical warning from this book 14 years later.

The Titanic story is eerily similar to my own experience, which explains my interest in seeking a plausible explanation for the premonition phenomenon. To avoid turning this article into a shameless promotion, I won't provide details about the book that got me thinking in depth about premonitions. It's enough to mention that I recently realized that a book I wrote 17 years before certain unusual and notable events occurred, described them in almost exact detail. At that time, I obviously didn't know those events would happen in real life. Like many others, the story germinated in my head for no particular reason. A coincidence? Maybe.

The facts and the science behind a possible explanation.

Fact One: Premonitions occur, sometimes with remarkable precision. This fact is indisputable.

Fact Two: Individuals experiencing premonitions cannot explain how they have received them.

Fact Three: Many premonitions are specific and personal. Are you familiar with that irrational feeling that suggests you shouldn't do something you initially planned to do?

A well-known example is that of Edward and Pamelia Bowen, a well-off couple from Newton, Mass., who narrowly escaped tragedy in 1915 when they canceled their booking on the RMS Lusitania due to Edward's growing unease. Despite needing to travel to London for important business, Edward acted on a strong premonition that something terrible would happen to the ship. His instincts proved correct. On May 7, the Lusitania was torpedoed by a German U-boat, killing 1,198 people. The Bowens' last-minute decision saved their lives.

Fact Four: People who report credible premonitions have no personal interest in the story.

A well-documented example is that of , an office worker in Cincinnati, who, in May 1979, began experiencing vivid, recurring dreams of a horrific airplane crash involving a large jetliner taking off and then exploding. Troubled by the dreams' consistency and intensity, he contacted the FAA, describing the aircraft as an American Airlines DC-10. Just days later, on May 25, American Airlines Flight 191 crashed shortly after takeoff from Chicago O'Hare, killing all 273 people aboard—the deadliest aviation accident in U.S. history at the time. The eerie accuracy of Booth's visions made this case one of the most compelling and widely discussed examples of a possible premonition.

While a healthy dose of skepticism about the existence and meaning of premonitions is warranted, the documented examples of such occurrences are too numerous to ignore. Therefore, what scientific explanation can we suggest for this phenomenon?

The Future Is Here

The science is accessible to everyone who wants to learn a little about quantum mechanics. Yakir Aharonov, a physicist best known for the Aharonov-Bohm effect, has also contributed foundational ideas about time in quantum mechanics. One of his more philosophically profound theories involves a time-symmetric or two-state vector formalism (TSVF), which challenges the traditional, linear, and forward-only notion of time. Aharonov proposes that the quantum state of a system is determined not only by its past (initial conditions) but also by its future (final conditions). In other words, the present state is influenced by both past and future boundary conditions.

In Aharonov's view, the present is not an isolated moment moving through time but rather a bridge influenced by both what has been and what will be. This challenges the linear progression of time as we typically experience it. Since the future contributes to defining the present state (in TSVF), this implies that the future already exists. It suggests a block universe perspective, where the past, present, and future are all equally real.

Now, here's my theory that reconciles the undeniable existence of premonitions with quantum mechanics. Since, according to Yakir Ahronov, both the present and the future already exist, and the future influences the present, I propose that when an individual finds himself in a state of heightened perceptivity—often occurring during certain stages of sleep, hypnosis, or under the influence of drugs, high fever, and other altered states—details of future events "leak" into his cognition by an unknown mechanism. This would explain how different people without specific abilities or common traits experience isolated premonition events.

Why may "altered states" play a role? Seers and medicine men in certain tribal societies are believed to offer valid predictions of future events while under the influence of hallucinogens. While such reports are solely anecdotal, they align with the scope of the theory proposed above. Moreover, many predictions, like Abraham Lincoln's and David Booth's, are revealed in a dream. This strongly suggests that premonitions are less frequent during regular waking hours.

Of course, my theory may be completely bonkers, but since facts are facts, I challenge you to present a better one.

When I start working on a new book, I typically have just a nebulous idea of the plot. Yet, I need to decide at the beginning whether to write in the first person or the third person, with either a single or multiple perspectives. This choice shapes the atmosphere the reader will experience when the book is finished and is, thus, essential. But how do I make that choice when I only have a basic idea and don't know where the story is headed?

I envy those authors who have everything well planned out before they write the first line, but I am the exact opposite. I can't just toss a coin to make that decision, so I invest in my protagonists; I imagine them against the backdrop of my story idea, getting to know their quirks, abilities, personal struggles, and aspirations. When I'm done with that, I can comfortably sit down at my keyboard, and the right point of view reveals itself to me. It's a bit like magic, and, admittedly, it's not a well-structured method, but it works!

Amid that chaotic process, I will always consider some universal factors. When crafting a thriller (with most of my works falling into the Sci-Fi thriller genre), the choice of narrative perspective is crucial in determining how engaged and immersed the reader becomes. Employing a first-person point of view (POV), in which the main character narrates his or her own story, offers distinct advantages over utilizing multiple perspectives. The most significant benefit is the unparalleled intimacy it fosters between the reader and the main character. This results in several positive outcomes:

Deep Emotional Connection
Narration in the first person gives readers an intimate glimpse into the protagonist's thoughts, feelings, and motivations behind their actions. This close access to the character's mind lets readers experience situations and emotions alongside the protagonist, fostering a deep emotional connection. In thrillers, where tension and stakes are heightened, this bond intensifies the suspense, amplifying the impact of each plot twist.

Enhanced Immediacy and Tension
The use of first-person perspective directly engages readers in the protagonist's experiences, creating a sense of urgency and immediacy. Readers are limited to the character's understanding and perceptions, mirroring their journey of discovery and building suspense. This focused viewpoint enables readers to uncover clues and face dangers alongside the protagonist, boosting the narrative's tension. If the writing is truly immersive (and I hope mine is), the reader evolves from a mere observer into an active participant in the story.

Unreliable Narration
A narrative told from a first-person perspective can feature an unreliable narrator, adding depth and intrigue to the thriller genre. The protagonist's account may be flawed for various reasons, and at times, the reader might perceive that he is mistaken or misled, which can lead to trouble for him, keeping readers on their toes and enhancing the psychological depth of the thriller.

Focused Character Development
When the focus is solely on the main character, I can invest into his or her development more deeply. Readers directly witness the protagonist's evolution, challenges, and transformations, creating a more enriching and engaging experience. This concentrated character journey is especially powerful in thrillers, where personal stakes often propel the plot.

There are additional advantages to a single first-person point of view; however, different readers have varying preferences and may favor a third-person perspective, whether limited or omniscient. Personally, I cannot read works written in the second-person point of view, which uses the pronoun "you" supposedly to immerse the reader in the experience of being the protagonist.

So, what is your preference?

A while ago, I was having dinner with my daughter and suddenly realized that this hereditary trait thingy is real—she eats like me.

Some people deal with their plate simply by gobbling down the food, but others are much more methodical. To be clear, I am not talking about brumotactillophobia (it's an actual term; you can Google it). Brumotactillophobia is a mild form of obsessive-compulsive disorder in which a person worries about foods touching each other. It is so common that Amazon sells a variety of food plate dividers that help to keep the various foods on your plate isolated.

Brumotactillophobians will find great excuses for purchasing them, such as that "A balanced diet involves dividing your plate into three parts: 50% vitamins, 25% grains, and 25% protein. This ensures balanced nutrition in every meal to support your weight loss goals." I don't believe people can eat that way for more than a meal or two if the purpose is "to achieve balanced nutrition," but they will happily do it to deal with brumotactillophobia.

But I'm not judging. If foods touching each other bothers you, you should do something about it. Why suffer?

But my daughter's obsession, and mine, is very different, and actually, a very positive one. It is like wine pairing. As Le Cordon Bleu teaches us, "Successful wine pairing will enhance the dining experience–potentially heightening flavors, textures and qualities in the food." Before we start pairing wines and food, we need to know how to pair foods with foods. So, when eating, we ensure that we always stack bits of all foods that work well together and "heighten flavors, textures, and qualities in the food." But that's the easy part. The harder part is making sure your enjoyment is constant throughout the meal.

Let's take a simple example. You ordered an omelet with crispy bacon and fried tomato for breakfast. You will want to have a bit of each of them on your fork, and that's a straightforward decision. But the problem is their relative size. You need to pick with each fork the exact amount of each that will leave your plate empty with the last bite. Being left with a piece of bacon to eat all by itself or a bit of omelet with nothing else on the side will leave you unsatisfied with your meal. But this is a simple example. Doing the same with a less familiar dish requires greater eating prowess.

I have tried to explain to myself the mechanism that infallibly gets me to the end line with a clean plate. I have concluded that my brain continuously calculates how much of each food is left on the plate and determines the required size of my next piece of each. Then, it communicates that information to the part of the brain that controls my motor skills. It sounds exhausting, and sometimes it is, but the reward is in my taste buds.

Have you ever considered whether you are like me, a brumotactillophobian, or perhaps one of those lucky individuals who enjoys their meal without much thought to the order of things? If you didn't, I may have given you a way to enhance your enjoyment at the table, or I may have ruined it forever, in which case, I apologize.

Why do we look at the same thing and see something different? And why do we read the same book and have completely different and opposite reactions? Some will say this is due to our different personalities, experiences, and emotional backgrounds. That may be true in a sense, but I believe, in many cases, it runs deeper than that.

A typical example is Paulo Coelho's "The Alchemist." Opinions and reviews of this book range from "A miraculous piece of writing" all the way to "Utter drivel, badly written, righteous, condescending, preachy." (Full disclosure: I am in the utter drivel camp). Now, I'm not saying that tastes don't count, but there are some objective facts that should not be disputed (for instance, that the book is arguably dull), and yet they are. Why is that?

I think the positive response to this book may be attributable to a "mass delusion," defined(1) as "a false belief shared by a large group of people. Mass delusions are man-made by diverse influences to promote financial, political, or psychosocial goals." It probably started with a well-designed campaign, resulting in a few stellar reviews, which influenced the next readers.

However, more than positive reviews are needed to convince new readers to join the eulogy; the book needs to have additional traits, which this book has. Specifically, it has to make absolutely no sense to the reader, which in many cases will create a cognitive dissonance. The easiest way to escape this dissonance is to agree with those before us who wrote magnificent things about the book, and so the faction allegedly loving the book is created. A smaller portion of readers, who for whatever reason are not prone to this type of cognitive dissonance, see the book for what it is and join the utter drivel camp.

This is not dissimilar to a visit to a museum of modern art. Huge canvasses hang on walls, littered with various materials, including sometimes dung, to create shapes unpleasing to the eye. They are pretty awful and meaningless, but hey! They are in a museum, so they must be good. Thus, we gape at them in admiration. Again, this is the result of mass delusion.

I wouldn't mind that too much if I didn't suspect that the museum curators were watching me via CCTV and laughing at my expenses. And so I expect is doing Paulo Coehlo, laughing all the way to the bank.

In all fairness, "The Alchemist" is not alone. I have several other examples of similar mass delusions, but I have already made enough enemies for one day so I won't name them.


(1) See Alen J Salerian, "An epidemic of man-made mass delusions," J Psychol Clin Psychiatry. 2016;5(1):14‒12.

As an author, my job is to create imaginary worlds for readers and stories that allow them to immerse themselves in those worlds as if they were real. This is meant to be an enjoyable escape from our real world into the imaginary one, but sometimes, the two worlds simply meld. This got me thinking about the thin border between imagination and reality.

Imagine standing on the edge of a dream, where reality and imagination intertwine in a mesmerizing dance. In this twilight zone, the lines blur, leaving us to wonder: Is what we perceive truly the external world or a vivid creation of our minds? This enigma sparks profound philosophical and scientific debates about the essence of reality and the role of consciousness in shaping our experiences.

At the core of this mystery lies perception—our gateway to the world. Far from merely reflecting reality, perception is an active construction sculpted by our senses, brain, and past experiences. Our brains don't just capture sensory data like a camera; they interpret, fill gaps, and sometimes embellish what we see. This is why two people can witness the same event yet perceive it differently, each through their unique cognitive lenses.

The challenge of distinguishing reality from imagination is starkly evident in certain psychological and neurological conditions. Take schizophrenia, for instance, where hallucinations can feel as real as any sensory experience, blurring the boundaries between the external world and inner thoughts. Similarly, dreams create worlds that seem real at the moment, only to dissolve into mere figments upon waking.

Even in our everyday lives, we sometimes question the reality of our perceptions. Consider déjà vu, that eerie sensation of having lived a moment before. It can feel like a glitch in reality, as if we've momentarily stepped outside the flow of time.

Philosophers have long pondered the distinction between reality and imagination. Rene Descartes famously questioned whether we could ever be sure of the external world's existence, suggesting we might be dreaming or deceived by an evil demon. His conclusion, cogito, ergo sum ("I think, therefore I am"), affirms the reality of the thinking self but leaves the external world in doubt.

Today, virtual reality (VR) and augmented reality (AR) further blur the boundary between reality and imagination. These technologies create immersive experiences where the physical and the imagined coexist seamlessly. Wearing a VR headset, one can interact with a virtual world that feels profoundly real, challenging our notions of reality.

Ultimately, the interplay between reality and imagination highlights the complexity of human consciousness. Our minds are not passive observers but active creators of our world. Through perception, dreams, and technology, we navigate a realm that is both real and imagined, grounded in reality yet enriched by the limitless potential of the human mind. This dynamic interplay is not a flaw but a testament to the richness and complexity of our experiences.

So, back again to reading, one way to characterize a book as "good" or "excellent" is the extent to which reading it blurs our present reality, even if only for a moment. We do so instinctively, but you may want to consciously consider it on your next read.

Good reading!

Last week, I was asked my opinion on a book that contained sensational scientific claims. A quick look immediately revealed that the statements made in the book are absurd, contradict everything we know about physics and chemistry, and do so without any supporting evidence. Nevertheless, the person who asked my opinion (and had misgivings about the whole thing) had difficulty letting go of the book's outlandish ideas. That got me thinking.

This is the power of the written word. We start by believing that if someone goes through all the trouble of writing a book about a subject, it cannot be all hogwash. The sad truth, however, is that it is not uncommon to find books written by quacks trying to sell fried air to unsuspecting readers.

That reminded me of a post I wrote tongue-in-cheek some twelve years ago. I could not keep from chuckling when rereading it, so I'm sharing it with you. I think there is something to be learned from it.

                                                     Wanted: A Child, 1876 Model

Jane Stoker let me down. I refer to the same Jane Stoker who—as I'm sure you know—was lecturer of Domestic Economy at Stockwell Training College, London, England, back in 1876. I'll give you the full facts and let you judge if my complaint is not justified.

I was browsing around an antique bookshop in London (one of my vices) when my gaze fell on a book titled "HOME COMFORT: A Complete Manual of Domestic Economy for Schools and Colleges." The price was stiff (£ 24), but as soon as I got to page 8, I decided to make the investment. Page 8, which couldn't be more in tune with my own thoughts, states in no uncertain terms:

"The father should indirectly rule the house. His wishes, expressed or understood, should be law: the household arrangements should be made with a view to his comfort and convenience … Home should be to him a haven of rest. He should not directly interfere in the management of the house, which is the wife's province, nor should he be in any way troubled with household matters."

Jane immediately clicked with me. My kind of training-college lecturer, I thought. At-a-girl, Jane! I flipped the pages quickly to see if they held more good stuff and found plenty. 

I didn't get to study the book in the shop because the owner—a gloomy, diffident bird who had kept watch over me, apparently to make sure that I wasn't pocketing any book—started making impatient faces, so I disgorged the ransom for the book and took off.

Imagine my delight when I read the explanations on page 9:

"The children in a household must be in perfect subjection to their parents … As early as possible, the little ones should be encouraged to help their mother and be thoughtful of her comfort … The children of the ideal woman 'rise up' in reverence, 'and call her blessed' in gratitude and love."

Well, I thought that would certainly work for me and my wife!

I read the book avidly. It contains helpful hints on many interesting subjects, from "Bacon" through "Children, Management of," as well as "Fainting," "Grievances of Servants," "Small-Pox," and "Whooping Cough." A gold mine, indeed!

By the time I flew home, I had mastered most of the book's teachings (although I was still a bit foggy regarding the proper use of Bullock's Gall to scour a carpet—page 77). I immediately proceeded to put its advice into practice by embarking on the long-overdue education of my kids. But lo and behold! They refused to play ball. Flatly and finally. They declined to be "the hewers of wood and the drawers of water." When confronted with Jane Stoker's book, they were unimpressed and said things about her that I could not repeat in mixed company.

And I wonder, is that my fault, or did Jane Stoker scam me? I don't believe that the children that she wrote about ever existed. She just stringed everybody along to sell books to poor saps like me.

Have you ever wondered why you enjoy reading stories about worlds or situations that you positively know are absurd and impossible? One might think that stories so remote from real life should have no appeal to the reader because what they tell us is ridiculously irrelevant to us. One would be dead wrong!

Unrealistic setups and stories that bear no relation to our world have a certain allure, a charm that draws us in. This is partly due to what I like to call the "absurdity advantage." Let's explore this concept.

When we read a story set in our real world, past, present, or future, part of our brain is always on the lookout for incongruities. We register contradictions: a wrong detail of a reported event, a description of a garment that does not fit the era, and a myriad of other small details that our brain keeps checking as we read are processed in the back of our minds without us realizing it. At times, this may be pretty exhausting. So, while we enjoy reading complex, realistic literature, we may find it hard to turn it into a uniformly relaxing read.

Once we realize what goes on behind our brain's curtains, so to speak, it is easy to understand why reading an admittedly silly story is so pleasurable. Take, for example, the alien beverage-dispensing machine featured in The Hitchhiker's Guide to The Galaxy. Nobody would ever dream of questioning the accuracy of its description. Instead, our whole brain is engaged only in enjoying the absurdity of the situation, happily relieved of the burden of reality-checking what the story says.

If a book is both absurd and funny, it has the added advantage of making us laugh, but even if it doesn't, it allows our brain to "enjoy without analyzing." That's why we can delight in a good horror story about a mutant fog like in James Herbert's aptly titled book The Fog. We know that mutant fogs don't exist and that there is no point in fact-checking what happens to those who get trapped in it, so we can relax and enjoy the bloodshed.

The absurdity advantage works both ways and writing absurd stories is also rewarding. To be happy, our lives must be well-balanced, so I make sure to read and write a bit of absurdity in addition to all the serious stuff. I hope that works for you, too.