So you’re reading along, in a book you quite enjoy, one whose characters lives are very reminiscent of your own, their little dramas seeming oh so familiar to you, when you start feeling just a bit nervous, fearful really, of what’s coming. Because actually, this situation – this fictional situation, you keep reminding yourself – is inching ever closer to something in your own life that’s just a bit too horrible to contemplate right now.
But still you keep reading, hoping against hope that what this character (who has by now become quite dear to your heart) is about to reveal won’t be that dreaded thing you’re so worried about. You keep reading, sending a silent pleading to the universe, making one of those crazy, ridiculous bargains with fate -if it isn’t true for her, than it won’t be true for me.
And then, it splashes over the page like vomit. That vile circumstance you dreaded so.
And you can’t read the book any more.
Now tell me, has this ever happened to you, that a book cut so close to the quick of your own life that you were forced to abandon it?