But the last one was so good.

If only it was longer or you hadn't turned through the pages so fast, greedily gobbling up the words like a child stuffing her mouth with sweets.  It wasn't your fault--how could you not keep reading?  How could you not dip back into that world every chance you got, losing yourself in the absinth and fog, the plot and the twists? 

Perhaps you will try this book here--it's been sitting on your shelf awhile.  But no--the heroine is not so likable, the streets not so interesting--but maybe if you gave it a few more pages--why should you? You shouldn't have to work that hard.  It is a battle within yourself, searching for a new place to plant your imagination and yet loath to leave your old haunt.  Eventually, you abandon the bookshelf altogether, throwing yourself at the mercy of Kindle sample reads.  Surely there must be *something* to sink your mind into. 

But the same old dilemma greets you in your cyber realm: this book is too slow--that one too fast, falling over itself in its hurry to get through the plot.  The tone there is too light, like a cream puff, leaving you feeling too sugary and breezy; yet this next one is too heavy, weighted down by verbose prose and self-importance--hardly the stuff of guilty pleasures.

You sift and sift, revisiting old books and searching for new ones, until it happens: you stumble upon a gem in the pile of simply-will-not-do books.  It's the cover that draws you in first with its the hint of adventure--then your fingers slip between the covers and find that perfect spot--the one that makes you giggle, or shiver, or wonder, begging you to turn the page. 

You remember now, why you bought the book in the first place.  You can hardly understand why you haven't read it sooner, as you curl up on the couch, the immediacy of the last read fading in the unfolding of the new one.