My favorite thing about fiction is that the only real thing that happens between the pages is the changes the reader goes through because of the book. Every good book I’ve ever read has been a crossroads, where I have to make a decision about who I’ll be after the last chapter. It’s impossible not to change a little with every new idea you come across in a book; at the barest, you have to decide whether or not you believe in the idea, and then often whether or not you agree with it, and sometimes you realize you’ve experienced it all along and never known it, at least not like this. Because the only real thing between the covers of a work of fiction is you, your humanity, and the way that humanity changes because of some ink on paper and ideas you can’t even completely stuff into your head.
So, yeah, I guess you could say I believe in magic.
