One of the great mysteries of life: the magic contained in a book.  It’s a small package, inert.  It sits on a shelf, quietly waiting.  Has sat there for years.  You KNOW the insides (you read it years ago); it’s a “good” book.  “Fantastic”, even.


 


You pass it every day as you walk by the bookshelf, and it waits, quietly. 


 


But when you take it in your hand to read, it bursts into life!!!!!!!  It’s real and compelling.  It’s NOW.  It’s almost impossible to shift thoughts toward any other action, but to read. Because…because…how will it end?  What will happen?  How is this going to be?


 


How can paper with printing on it be so REAL?


 


From Seven Day Magic by Edward Eager:


 


On every hand were what looked like thousands of books, ranged on        shelves, stacks and stacks of them.


          “Think of all those we haven’t read yet!” said Abbie.


          “Maybe some of them have magic inside, too!” said Fredericka.


          All of them, I should think,” said Barnaby, “one way or another.”

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