Reading is not a rational, logical, orderly process for me. It isn't about picking up books that tick off all the right boxes. I don't look for formulas and recipes. I don't need the comfort of standards. It isn't about feeling satiated by the story or even about liking it... It's about immersion.

Whether excruciating or horrifying or enlightening or intriguing or comforting, I want to feel it. Sometimes I want to curl up inside a favorite book; others infuriate me enough that I'd like to throw them across the room, or slam them shut and wash my hands and eyeballs when I'm done.

I don't have to agree with the characters or premise of a tale. I don't have to enjoy the ride. And speed means nothing to me. Whether a book takes me a day or a year to read matters not. Some stories are so unnerving that I can only take them in small doses. Some are so complex that they take time to digest. Others are completely effortless. All kinds can be found in my list of favorites, shelved right next to each other.

It seems book love, like love in general, can be hard to put a finger on. I know it when I read it, and I guess that's all that matters.