Languages and books and words entrance me. On a train I can't help but read other people's newspapers. When I visit people I check out their bookcases. Books are like gateways into other worlds, escapes from where one is and what one is. Which makes me think of the linking books of Myst and the chameleon suit of "Legacy of Time". To look at a page in a book is like falling into a river - which can bear me along for many a full stop and semi-colon. I can get quite emotionally bound up with the fate of characters who are only characters. Perhaps this is pure unadulterated escapism from the here and now. I could defend the world of fiction as offering reflections on our own culture. There is mileage in that, but that's not what I'm after here. I hope here to pay tribute to those authors and books which have enriched my life. A way of saying thank you for letting me into their worlds of imagination. And perhaps to recommend to others what I have so enjoyed.