There’s a certain sadness one gets when coming to the end of a good book. One wants the story to go on, to know that the characters continue to live and that the world they inhabit does not cease to exist. That’s how I felt coming to the end of, for instance, The Lord of the Rings, or Brideshead Revisited, or any number of good books.

And this is why I’ve grown to love the big, thick books with tiny print–because I know I needn’t put the work down permanently after three days because I’ve finished it, but that I can savor the story for weeks. I’ve just begun Sigrid Undset’s Kristin Lavransdatter, a work in three volumes. It’s nice and thick, and will take me a while to get through

–just the way I like it.