Currently rereading Slaughterhouse Five with a friend. Slaughterhouse Five was the first book after high school and college that reminded me why I loved (non-assigned) reading. As soon as I finished it, I ran to the bookstore and bought another by Kurt Vonnegut and then another... and another... and another... until I‘d read every one the bookstore carried.
“The worlds lie together like the pages of a book,” she said, brushing her fingers over the Thakranaxet‘s gold-edged pages. “Layered. All right? Only, imagine each page is infinite, stretching in all directions forever. If you were somehow to travel through space, you‘d be going along the endless plane of a single page, do you see? You would never come to another page.”
Y‘all, the world is so cruel. You wait months for a release, only for it to come out on the only day of the week that you (I) teach a class before AND after work. Currently telling myself it‘s not worth teasing myself to start this one on my lunch break. Are you really even a reader if you haven‘t done the math on exactly how late you can stay up and still get a couple hours sleep and contemplated calling out sick the day of a release?
Lazlo watched Thyon go pale as the whole weight of the kingdom settled on him, and he felt it as though it were on his own shoulders. And it was. Not because it was put there by a cruel father and a greedy queen, but because he took it. Right there in the tombwalk, as though it were a real, physical burden, he put himself beneath it to help Thyon bear the weight—even if Thyon didn‘t know it.
