Last night, as I was tucking the boy in, he asked me, “what book you would live in, if you could?” (I love this kid). My first instinct was Lonesome Dove. What an epic. To partake in a cattle drive from Texas to Montana, back when there were no fences, no roads, not even any railroads. I know it’s an imperfect book (its representation of native people is (to put it mildly) ignorant, and there are only two women in the book (a whore and a homesteader who watches her whole family die), but if I could be the main character for just a day or two… sign me up.
But then, that wasn’t what he asked.
“I have to be me?” I clarified. “In the world of the book?”
“Yes.”
Okay. Forget Lonesome Dove.
He chose Harry Potter. He wants to play quidditch, not as a muggle, but on a broom, with the team from Gryffindor. Spot on.
I’ve been thinking about it all morning. I wouldn’t want to choose any of the literary fiction I read, because that would just straight up be a missed opportunity. But I don’t want to choose anything too scary or apocalyptic (no Station 11 or Lapvona, or even The Four Winds).
So here I am, scrolling through my GoodReads list of books I’ve read as if the boy is at all still interested in my answer.
Maybe Project Hail Mary (assuming there’s room for one more on the ship), or Robin Hobb’s fantasy world (I think I’d choose to live in Bingtown). I would definitely like to visit Matt Haig’s Midnight Library (but by the rules of the story that would mean I’m dying, so maybe not?). It could be fun to visit the 12th century England of Ken Follett’s Pillars of the Earth, just to drink beer for breakfast and watch a great gothic church be built without power tools.
Such a good question.
Where would you go?
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