Not long ago I awoke in the middle of the night and realized immediately that it had arrived. The air, when I had gone to bed, was still faintly sultry, the air of evening that comes after a day of golden, soft sunshine. But when I woke in the dark I felt how the temperature had dropped, and the air smelled of autumn. It was like learning a secret, the rest of the city asleep around me, while I felt that I was the first to learn: autumn had come swiftly, quietly, to town. The moment was brief and delicious, and resonant with sudden memories and sensations that pulled me back into the comfort of sleep, and when I woke it was still there, the edge of the chill, but even more – the faint smell of this change in the seasons.

It made me want to read.

There is much said about the "Summer Read," which suggests beaches and lounging and porches and hammocks. But this autumn, for the first time, it came to me that I seem to prefer to read in darkened, cozy places. I don't like to read on a beach. I like to read in messy coffee shops, or on subways (which, believe it or not, can sometimes feel quite cozy), I like to read at night in strange hotels when it is raining outside, or in my own kitchen, late, as I eat peanut butter crackers. And now that it really is autumn and getting dark earlier, it seems the joy of reading has come to me as it came to me when I was a child: that sweet tugging on the senses, come here, come here. It is surprising. I would have thought -- I have always thought -- I am a person who likes to read, and the where and the when didn't matter.

Who knew?

Maybe it is because I am at a stage in life where my schedule is not as regulated by domestic needs as it was when I was raising a family, and all reading was done hungrily anywhere I got the time. Now – even while I still feel there is never enough time, never – I will pop onto the couch with a quilt, and tell myself, Oh, just fifteen minutes and I will get back to work, and then pick up one of the many open books lying around. The loveliness of this! The glory of it, as I snuggle down. Through the window, I see the low clouds of autumn that seem to keep me blanketed inside and safe, while I read the stories of people who have felt this, lived through that, and I do not mind that winter will unfold its own carpet one of these days.


Elizabeth Strout is the author of Abide with Me, a national bestseller and Book Sense pick; Amy and Isabelle, which won the Los Angeles Times Art Seidenbaum Award for First Fiction and the Chicago Tribune Heartland Prize. In 2009 she was honored with a Pulitzer Prize for Fiction for Olive Kitteridge, a collection of connected short stories about a woman and her immediate family and friends on the coast of Maine. She can be found online at www.elizabethstrout.com

OK, I confess, I joined Facebook. Now, you have to remember I'm a computer geek, and as such, I'm not really all that good at dealing with people, face-to-face. I'm much happier working with machines; they're logical, they don't talk back, and generally do what you tell them to without argument. (Although I do have one server that I swear wants a blood sacrifice before it'll condescend to behave.) If I have to interact with people over the course of the day, I do everything possible to do it in writing (yes, e-mail is my friend). So, it only makes sense that a medium that allows me to interact with others, without actually having to talk to them, would offer some appeal.

At first I thought it was kind of silly; I had four or five "friends" (distant cousins and co-workers) with whom I'd rarely communicated in the past and have little in common with now, and I just couldn't understand the attraction. (Sadly, I didn't really care that my cousin spent her evening watching Glee on Fox.) Then, one day, the oddest thing happened – I got contacted by a former high school boyfriend. From there, one thing led to another, and now I'm in contact with all these people I have had nothing to do with for decades. (Still not entirely sure whether or not that's a good thing – and they probably feel the same way.)

I've found that one of the more interesting aspects of these sites is all the book activity taking place on them. Considering the US isn't exactly a nation of readers (the average American reads four books a year according to a 2007 poll), I've been surprised at – and heartened by - how many people are eager to discuss all things book-related. As you can see from the banner at the top of this page, BookBrowse participates in both Facebook and Twitter, but BookBrowse is hardly alone in taking advantage of current technology. I made the mistake of following a certain author's new book (because if you signed up as a fan, you could win a copy of her novel -- and the odds were good – and I'll do just about anything for free books). This resulted in my Inbox receiving a poorly-written (yet glowing) reader review of said novel approximately every ten minutes. I'm glad it was only one author's updates! My gosh, it would have gotten real ugly, real fast had I did my usual thing - gotten all carried away and signed up for half a dozen of them!

Another thing I've discovered is that my opinions aren't universal, not even about something as highly regarded as a work of classic literature (say, for example, Pride & Prejudice). I actually had to stop looking at topics that discuss readers' least favorite books. It's very hard to restrain myself when others are trashing novels I'm passionate about, books that any NORMAL PERSON would like... books anyone with HALF A BRAIN SHOULD ADORE AND WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE!?! ... (Uh, excuse me... sorry about that... having a flashback.) Needless to say, I've found that they do tend to frown on it when you start flaming others' opinions (even when you're completely right and they're stupid). So, to keep my friends, my various associated memberships, and my blood pressure in check, I've had to simply stop reading those conversation threads. Lesson learned.

BookBrowse reviewer Kim Kovacs is an avid reader in the Pacific Northwest. All those rainy days give her the opportunity to enjoy a wide variety of books that span many genres. Browse Kim's reviews.

As I look back over my long history as a reader, memories flood in regarding specific books and book-related events. A few stand out:

• The Scholastic book catalog that used to arrive periodically in my elementary school classroom.My parents were extremely supportive of my reading, and would let me choose as many as I liked. And oh, the day my books arrived! Heaven!
• A Mother Goose story book I discovered in the library when I was in sixth grade. Although it was far too "young" for me, I loved it, particularly a story about a young woman who killed her sister. The body turned into bones, which someone made into a harp, which then sang of the sister's perfidy. It was actually rather morbid.
• OK, I've got to admit it. My folks were "rubbish pickers." They loved to find really cool stuff in other peoples' trash (don't tell them I told you). One of the best finds in the world was a complete hardback set of Beverly Gray mysteries (she was kind of like a college-age Nancy Drew). I wish I still had them, as they'd likely be worth a lot of money now.
• Taking a Bible in to school to read, and being told to take it home again as it wasn't "appropriate" for the classroom. (I still can't believe that happened.)
• Reading The Adventures of Robin Hood (over and over and over again), and dressing up like one of the Merry Men for weeks on end.
• Learning about opera from a series of library books that not only told the story of the opera, but had the musical themes notated. They were easy enough that I could play them on the piano.I fell in love with The Magic Flute and Carmen long before I ever saw an opera staged.
• Discovering Shakespeare in story synopses in my grandmother's set of The Book of Knowledge (something else I wish we still owned). I can still see the sketches of Lady Macbeth descending a staircase by candlelight, and the two princes in the tower from Richard III.
• Reading Jane Eyre with a flashlight under the covers late into the night. (Well, it felt late to me at the time!)
• My first "dirty book." My poor dad brought home A Stranger in the Mirror by Sidney Sheldon for me without apparently knowing what it was about.It had been languishing in his office's Lost & Found for months, and he thought I might like it. I think I was in junior high at the time, and was shocked – and fascinated. I did not, by the way, tell the folks what I was reading.
• Reading Stephen King's Salem's Lot, and then having to sleep with the lights on for a week.

An endless supply of quotes exist telling us we should do what we love in life. Though many are cliché, I found myself rooting around for just the right one after hearing Alexander McCall Smith read from his latest book, Tea Time for the Traditionally Built. Having read most of the books in his No.1 Ladies' Detective Agency series, I was eager to see and hear in person the man who brought me the much adored Precious Ramotswe. As I entered the Borders bookstore in Ann Arbor, it was evident that I was not alone.

Since I probably haven't had the pleasure of listening to someone read to me since kindergarten carpet time, it was with happy nostalgia that I sat cross-legged and elbow to elbow on the bookstore floor, listening to the cadenced voice of Mr. McCall Smith. Bewitched by his lilt and laughter, he quickly transformed the packed room of overwrought adults into a sea of sunny, eager faces as he read his favorite passages from Tea Time.

Now if you haven't read any of the No.1 Ladies' Detective Agency books, it would be prudent to inform you of their beautiful simplicity. Sprinkled with charming formalities, this modern day series lends itself an air of forgotten sophistication and decency so integral to the traditions of Botswana. The detective, Mma Ramotswe, cheerfully runs her laid-back operation with both cunning and disarming common sense. In signature McCall Smith style, these modest mysteries quietly play themselves out while the background literary score pays tribute to the deep-rooted customs and ways of Botswana.

Referring to himself as a "serial novelist" in the Q&A portion of his appearance, the author made no apologies for the multiple series he now has moving through the markets, and quite frankly we don't want him to. With three series in addition to The No.1 Ladies Detective Agency, the prolific McCall Smith claims to write on the road, in the air, or wherever his travels take him. When asked how he keeps all of his characters straight, a broad smile takes over his face as the question inevitably cues up their images. Like a proud father, confusing his creations is not a problem; he knows every nuance of his characters including voice, personality, strengths and vulnerabilities. Clearly born out of creative love, McCall Smith regards his characters with a wistful and paternal adoration only solid nurturing can bring about.

Taking in the vibrant crowd, I sat marveling as each brief pause between questions brought about the fervent waving of hands, showcasing that age old "pick me! pick me!" determinism. One such hand belonged to an enthusiastic, heavyset woman in the front row. Quite overcome, she tearily thanked Mr. McCall Smith for making Mma Ramotswe a "woman of traditional build." She said that having Precious Ramotswe portrayed as a heavier woman "made her feel beautiful again."

Equally poignant was the comment shared by a dark, lovely woman, dressed in her bright yellow Sunday best. Waving throughout the majority of the appearance, the author finally chose her to end the session. Beyond pleased, she broke into the traditional greeting of Botswana, charming both Mr. McCall Smith and the audience at large. We listened intently as she thanked him for portraying her country in such a positive light. She added that her people constantly hear about America and that it is nice to be able to share the beauty of her homeland with others.

As I made my way home, I realized that this excursion meant to satisfy my curiosity had actually shaped itself into something far more humanitarian. Rather than self-promotion, Mr. McCall Smith seemed absolutely delighted to simply share both his words and our company. As readers, we wonder about the author behind the works that move us, and hope deep down that the real life version measures up. We give ourselves over to the imagination and creativity of others, also with the hope of finding growth and inspiration. For me, Alexander McCall Smith's sunny, engaging manner simply validates the importance of pursuing our passions in life. After all, as philosopher Albert Camus once said, "But what is happiness except the simple harmony between a man and the life he leads?"

Suggested Links
For a biography of Alexander McCall Smith and links to excerpts of a number of his books, visit BookBrowse
For an extremely comprehensive bibliography listing books by publication date in the UK and USA, BookBrowse recommends fantasticfiction.co.uk

Freelance writer Megan Shaffer has both her Bachelor and Master degrees in Education. She currently works in the schools of Birmingham, Michigan where she shares her love of literature. When Megan is not in the classroom, she is actively involved in the local literary scene and maintains a blog about new books and authors. Megan's reviews at BookBrowse

I recently finished The Killing Way, a mystery by author Tony Hays.  While the book was relatively well-written, I found that I was still much more drawn to it than its quality would seem to merit.  I kept mentally returning to it, being excited about getting back to it, only to realize I'd already finished the darned thing and would have to wait for the sequel.  In mulling over why I found this book so fascinating, I came to the conclusion that it wasn't the plot or the writing (although both were fine) -- it was the book's hero.

I've had numerous literary crushes over time.  My first occurred when I was in Mrs. Cummins' seventh grade English class.  Every year she had her students read The Adventures of Robin Hood.   While most complained, I enjoyed the experience tremendously.  It was my first encounter with the hero, and I was totally "in love" (whatever that means to a twelve-year-old).   I even resorted to wearing what I thought looked Sherwood-Foresty for awhile (a green shirt that had laces strung across the v-shaped neckline, and leather moccasins that passed for "boots," both readily available in the early 1970s, unfortunately).

Robin Hood was supplanted by Sherlock Holmes. (...Both in print and film; I had quite the thing for Basil Rathbone - except for those movies where he affected a hairstyle that included some dorky little Caesar-like curls at his temples).  Francis Crawford of Lymond (Dorothy Dunnett's hero of The Lymond Chronocles, which I've read three times) followed thereafter, to be replaced some years later with James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser from Diana Gabaldon's Outlander series (another set of books I've read more than once).  And there have, of course, been others.  (I suppose I'm a bit fickle.)

I have noticed a pattern, of course; all my heroes are from the British Isles.  I find it curious that I've never been tempted to read Dunnett's House of Niccolò series, which is very highly rated -- but features men from Italy, not Scotland.   I'm not sure if Robin Hood set some sort of bar for all my future heartthrobs, or if something early in my childhood warped me in that direction.  But it is what it is, and I'm not complaining – just looking forward to stumbling across my next leading man.

BookBrowse reviewer Kim Kovacs is an avid reader in the Pacific Northwest. All those rainy days give her the opportunity to enjoy a wide variety of books that span many genres. Browse Kim's reviews.