The Logic of the Escape

People often ask me why, when my real life is already filled with enough tension to power a small city, I choose to spend my free hours reading books like Listen for the Lie? Why the dark, the mysterious, and the suspenseful? The answer is logical: I need a crisis that has absolutely nothing to do with me.

The “Controlled” Crisis

In my house, the challenges—the Transverse Myelitis, the unpredictable flares, the medical bureaucracy—don’t always have a tidy ending. They don’t have a final chapter where everything is explained. But in a thriller, there is a resolution. There is a culprit. There is an ‘End.’ Reading is the only time I get to see a problem actually get solved in 300 pages or less.

The Voice of the Skeptic

I loved Lucy in “Listen for the Lie” because her inner monologue matches the dry, weary skepticism I feel when I’m navigating the ‘well-meaning’ world. Sometimes, you don’t want a protagonist who is a saint; you want one who is a bit of a mess, a bit sarcastic, and entirely done with everyone’s nonsense. It makes my own internal ‘knowing look’ feel a lot less lonely.

The Mental Relocation

When I open a book, I am no longer in a room filled with Steve’s equipment or the hum of the ‘vigil.’ I am in a small town in Texas, or a foggy street in London. My brain needs to travel, even if my body has to stay within earshot of the hallway. Seven books since December means I have traveled seven different lives while never leaving my chair.

The “No-Advice” Zone

Fiction is the only place where no one is trying to fix me, ‘support’ me, or give me a pamphlet. The characters don’t care if I’m ‘staying positive.’ They just want me to keep turning the page. It is a pure, uncomplicated relationship that asks nothing of me but my attention.

So, if you see me with my nose in a book while the world feels like it’s tilting, just know I’m not ‘checking out.’ I’m just visiting a problem I’m allowed to close the cover on when I’m done