The beauty and wonder of Ender’s Game

A few days ago, for the first time since last year, I devoured a book. You know what I mean. It goes beyond not being able to put the book down. Every turned page feels like a wonderful revelation, and your inner-motor is operating solely to propel you through the book.

(The last time this happened was with the Harry Potter books. I read all seven in nine days.)

The book that did the trick most recently was Orson Scott Card’s Ender’s Game. I went in with fairly low expectations. I had taken my dad’s copy of the book, and he said he didn’t see what all the fuss was about. I read it a couple weeks later. In one sitting. I was up past six in the morning. If I had tried to sleep, I would have failed.

(If you haven’t read this book, don’t worry. No spoilers here. Eric hasn’t read it either, and I don’t want to ruin it for him.)