Time and again I mention to my friends that I’ve read a few books over the weekend and all I’m met with are looks of disbelief. I’m not sure whether they’re surprised that I actually have the time to read more than one page or if their taken back by the fact that , yes indeed, people do still read. While personally I don’t own too many books, my shelves are full of the odd books that my family and I have collected over the years as well as the books I’m constantly borrowing from my friendly neighborhood library.

I will be the first to admit my intense love for Agatha Christie. I will fight to the death to argue that she is indeed the queen of mystery and will forever be the number one mystery author of all time. There is, without fail, at least one Agatha Christie novel adorning my shelf at all times. Something about the complexities of her plots seem to draw me in and keep me wrapped up in the fictional lives of Hercule Poirot, the dimwitted by standers and the clever murderer. The wheels in my head are constantly turning. I try with all my might to be one up on Ms. Christie, but every time I attempt it, I fail. I have yet to be able to guess the ending of her books before they are revealed as the story draws to a close. I will honestly say that it is mostly due to her books that I have chosen the career path that I have. It is her knack for the psychology of a crime that has me so determined to one day be able to say, “I figured it out, Agatha. I got you this time!”

Next to the wonderful titles of And Then There Were None and The Dumb Witness can be found an almost ridiculous amount of completed as well as unfinished series. It seems that once I’ve found a story that intrigues me, I will follow it to whatever end the author has in store. With such titles as The Inkheart Trilogy and The Looking Glass Wars, the worlds described between their pages give me an escape from the monotony of my mundane seventeen year old life. I live vicariously through characters such as Meggie Folchart, trying to hone her skill of reading people out of their stories or Alyss Hart who does her best to reign over her kingdom of Wonderland. My imagination runs wild as I do my best to conjure up the strange creatures, the breathtaking landscapes that each of these stories is so full of. It may seem juvenile of me to be so entranced by the fantastical worlds I find hidden in the black print and white paper, but there is nothing I love more than to be swept off into a world that isn’t so unlike my own and yet is totally different, completely more magical.

I could continue to rattle off the titles of each novel on my shelf. Some would be surprised to hear that I continue to keep Crime and Punishment, The Road, and Dinner at the Homesick Restaurant among books I am proud to say I’ve read and consider reading again. Some would simply shake their heads at the childishness of books such as The Tale of Desperaux, Don’t Die Dragonfly, or Ella Enchanted. And others would agree with my decisions to own every single one of the Harry Potter books (though owning two copies of books two and five might be a little superfluous). Books have been a constant in my life, a certainty that I could always run away to a world not my own, to a world that survived for as long as I imagined it. I may not believe that we are what we read, but I do believe that what we read stays with us forever. We may not remember exactly what happened between Harry arriving at Hogwarts and the final battle between him and Voldemort (Okay, who am I kidding? Everyone’s going to remember that.). But my point is that we’re going to remember the journey we took through the story. We’re going to remember how we rejoiced with the characters when everything went well, laughed when the bad guys got what they deserved, and cried when things couldn’t get any worse. The words on each page of each book that we read can create a world so magnificent that we only need to open the book, open the door and we are invited to stay for as long as we please. I love my books and am proud of each one that sits on my shelf. There is a saying that goes, "Some books should be tasted. Others devoured. But only a few should be chewed and digested thoroughly." We need only to find which books deserve which. I know I’ve found mine. They reside nicely in rows on each of my shelves.