I read nothing but nonfiction last month. It wasn't intentional; it was just the way things worked out. I enjoyed it because I was reading and reading is one of my all-time favorite leisure activities, but it was nothing compared to this month.
I (finally) started reading Divergent by Veronica Roth a week ago and I absolutely love it. I've got about 150 pages left to read and I already decided to buy Insurgent, the next book in the series, on my way home tomorrow. I could've ordered it from Amazon, but I'm 99% certain that I'll finish Divergent tomorrow and I want to start Insurgent immediately. Besides, I'm going to the mall tomorrow night anyway.
I can't help but wonder, though, if I would be this excited about any novel after reading all that nonfiction. Or is Divergent really that spectacular? (I'm leaning towards the second option. I'd heard raves about the book from my best friend and my YA literature professor and I have to agree with them. Also, I'm pretty excited about the movie.) It seems funny, but I'd forgotten how wonderful it feels to lose myself in a novel. So thank you, Veronica Roth, for reminding me why I love reading so much.
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