Gone With The Wind

(This was written Thursday night)

I have been wondering lately why do I love reading novels so much, and more than few answers came to my mind and all of them, added together, made sense, but only when I was reading 'Gone With The Wind' did I realize the real reason behind it all.

I read to live in other people's shoes, to know what they have experienced in life and what emotions they went through, to know what makes them happy and what break them, where they lived and where they've been to. I like to live these life and add their experiences to mine, believing that knowing more about that would make me understand people and this world better. I read novels to live with these people for few hours and then come back to reality and be glad and happy with my life, and appreciate everything in it much more.

I believe I have never read a book like 'Gone with the Wind', and I have a very strong feeling that I would never enjoy and love a book as much as do it. It's the story of something that actually happened (Civil War) and then the story of people who lived it, their thoughts and feelings, what they did and what they have been through. It takes you from how a plantation is run to politics, to love and marriage, death and loss, sickness, and people – I believe people are the most difficult of all that – and yet you're not bored by it, but rather would want to spend as much a time reading it to know what would happen, but with every page, you wish you can stop pages turning because you don't want it to finish.

It's also the first book I read that explained slavery in the US from a white person point of view. White people thought the black people are happy and couldn't really understand why does the Yankees what to set them free! It was also a shocking knowledge how much the Yankees and the Southern used to hate each other, I never thought people from two different places who hate each other that much can actually live with each other later.

I spent hours on it, the last being more than 10 hours last night, I just couldn't sleep and when I was told in the morning we're going out, I just smiled and couldn't stop smiling all day to the point people were wondering what's going on with me? Only my youngest sister guessed that I read a very good book but she dismissed the thought because it sure is something more. Nothing would have stopped my smile – not even when I found that a favorite shirt was ruined.

I think the way I think of books might be weird to people, stupid to others, or confusing, and very few might get what I'm talking about in this. If there is an excuse to my rambling, it would be that I didn't sleep and need it desperately.