The Book that Made Me Love Fiction Again

I respect books too much to throw one across the room, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t wanted to on occasion. Ever since my book released, I noticed a decrease in my enjoyment of fiction. I could not turn off my editor's brain and, therefore, could never relax and enjoy the story. My despondency over fiction got so bad it made it into my therapy session. 

I found myself cleansing my palate with the Harry Potter series. I returned to the safety of friendship with Hermione, Ron, and Harry, and re-experienced adventures we’d already survived. 

In a cynical attempt to prove all fiction was crap, I walked into the library and told myself I’d check out the first book that piqued my interest, even if it wasn’t my usual genre. 

I flipped through several paperbacks, saying, “Pass” through gritted teeth at each disappointing spine I shoved back onto the shelf. I found nothing and prepared to enjoy re-reading Harry Potter until the end of days. 

Then a little black and red cover in the corner of the featured fiction section drew my attention. I think it might have been the word “magic” in the upper left corner. 

I flipped the book over to read the description: “The magic is gone but the monsters remain.” 

Promising. Magic and monsters are very much my two favorite things in all the world. 

Last test was reading the first page. If I was bored on the first page, I wasn’t interested in giving the rest of the book a try, not without a hearty recommendation from a friend I trusted. 

Page one, I smiled. And even though I didn’t know much about the main character, I thought we might get along. Yet it was still a risk to take The Last Smile in Sunder City up to the counter and hand the librarian my key-chain library card. It felt more like paying for a prescription at Walgreens. 

Can you imagine what it’s like to have spent your life finding joy within novels to one day wonder if you will ever enjoy fiction again? 

Then, in the midst of this Narrative Crisis, you once again hold a book in your hands that makes you forget about the world around you. The metaphor and simile are as rich and smooth as chocolate. Once or twice, the hints at trauma that reveal themselves through the cracks in the main character’s rugged facade make your eyes tear up with understanding. You look past the character and see the author behind it and know the writer couldn’t write about trauma in such a specific way unless he had been there himself. 

Then there were the sexual interactions and one non-binary character. Though not central to the story, the writing was nuanced, compassionate, and—normal. No agenda. Just life. 

And then there were magic and monsters and even a short paragraph about coffee that I copied down for later use. 

I believe you can fall in love through words. I know because it happened. 

I still haven’t googled the author. I prefer to keep fiction and the real world separate. But Luke Arnold renewed my belief that fiction could be good. It can transport you beyond your world and make you believe anything is possible. The characters in books can be your friends when you have none, for a time assuaging a cleft of loneliness. 

I will forever be grateful to Luke Arnold for writing The Last Smile in Sunder City. I am currently reading it for the second time—an honor I heretofore have only ever paid to Harry Potter and anything written by Jane Austen. 

Photo by Andrew Johnson on Unsplash