FUN post #1

I haven't mentioned it much before, but I. LOVE. READING. There is nothing in the world to me like curling up in a comfy chair and enjoying a good book. I don't have a particular favorite genre, and my absolute favorite books cover a very wide range. The Harry Potter books are big favorites (I've read all 4100 pages more times than I've been able to keep track of), Nora Roberts and Phillipa Gregory are two of my favorite authors, and I also really enjoy Stephen King. I've most recently read Duma Key after a long break from Mr. King, and it was everything I remembered and loved.

But my #1, all time favorite, has-become-a-part-of-my-soul, book?

Jane Eyre.

It speaks to me on so many levels. The romance of the story. The language. People don't speak that way anymore, and I believe that is a shame. There is so much more description and emotion in the language of those days. I sort of collect copies of the book- I have four, each a little different: one old, one new, one small, one tiny with gilded edged pages. One of my dreams is to own a first edition- one that says Currer Bell, not Charlotte Bronte. Unfortunately, until I have an extra $60,000 sitting around with nothing else to do with it, that dream will not become reality.

Jane Eyre is such a part of me, that I literally had nightmares that someone would do a bastardization of it along the lines of Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. Of course someone did, because "let's capitalize on a fad and make money!" seems to be the motto of the world. When I first saw 'Jane Slayre' (I will NOT dignify it by treating it like a real title), I cried. I sobbed. I was standing in the checkout line at Borders, glanced over to that shelf below the register, saw it, and burst into tears. Needless to say, I recieved a lot of funny looks from my fellow patrons waiting in line and, since I was only partially able to subdue my hysterics, I'm pretty sure the cashier thought I had escaped from the local mental hospital.

I'm not really one for hysterics, or drama. I've ended friendships because I simply could not handle the seemingly desperate need for attention and drama.

There I was, though.

I made it to my car. I cried most of it out. And I went home, picked up my beat up old copy, cradled it, and cried some more. Inevitably I opened it and started reading, and reading Charlotte's words soothed me. I still do not understand why anyone would start that fad of inserting zombies or vampires into classic literature treasures, but then I'm not really one for fads.

Remind me sometime to tell you about how my love for this book nearly got me kicked out of a college class.

What's your favorite book? Has it ever invoked such a crazy and passionate response in you? Tell me, tell me, tell me!

I just want to know I'm not actually off my rocker. :)