return of the book monster

I am, at heart, a total bookworm. When I was a kid I would spend all of my free time reading. Also so not-technically-free-time, I kept a book open in my desk at school, and when I finished my work/declined to pay attention to what was being taught, I read. Monday was library and piano lesson day, and my mom limited me to seven books a week (maybe ten in the summer), at least until I was 12 or 13 and became less agreeable to limits. I would get home from town monday night and anxiously rifle through my pile of new adventures, trying to figure out the perfect one to start with. Once I picked a book, I would devour it. I would be inseparable from it until it was done-I would carry the book with me to the breakfast table (where I was allowed to read), on the bus to school, during school as I could sneak time to read it, on the bus home, curled up in the recliner until dinner (where I was not allowed to read). At night I was technically allowed 15 minutes after bedtime to read (measured by egg timer), but I usually needed to be told to turn the light out more than once. If my mom wanted to punish me, she did so by taking minutes off of my reading-before-bed time. I usually ran out of books by thursday, which led to a lot of boring weekends and an early exposure to the yellowed classics one my parents bookshelves (as well as an earlier-than-ideal exposure to Michael Crichton's Disclosure). I was a book monster. I grew out of it, of course, as I got older and school got harder and it became harder and harder to find books that engaged my mind. More difficult still when I went to college and focused on science instead of literature and had less and less time for curling up to read a book cover-to-cover. Once I went to grad school, forget it. I barely get my chapter or two or literature read for P. Sister book club. Still, occasionally something would pull me in and when I turn the last page I realize that it is 3 AM and there was no egg timer to remind me it was time to put the book down and go to sleep.

It has been a while since anything grabbed my attention, and I missed it-both reading a book for the unadulterated thrill of figuring out what happens next, and the experience of devouring a book-struggling to keep your eyes open and unable to put it down. This weekend, though, I found one! A few friends recommended The Hunger Games, and I picked it and its sequel up at the bookstore Sunday night. That was less than 48 hours ago, and I finished them both. Now, to be fair, they are technically books for teenagers and not the most rigorous reading. But SO GOOD. So, so, so, so good. Great characters; engaging story; smooth, elegant, evocative writing. The worst part: They are a trilogy, and book#3 doesn't come out until August! I will, theoretically, be preparing to defend my dissertation in August. I think I'll be able to spare a few evenings for ravenously devouring a book:)