Hooked Again

I'm usually reluctant to start a series, even one that's highly acclaimed, because of the commitment it imposes. I read the first Harry Potter before I knew there was or would be a second Harry Potter.  I made it through all three books of the Hunger Games trilogy, but only the first of the Twilight series.  I never started the Fifty Shades of Grey.

My introduction to Game of Thrones, however, came from my younger son, who'd first discovered the HBO series and gave me a copy of the first book of William R. R. Martin's series for some occasion more than a year ago.  I started it then while on a road trip, but I was unable to devote the concentration and attention to remember all the characters and keep them straight.  But he kept asking me about it.  Some of my students who were avid readers kept asking if I'd read them. 

When I found the audiobook in at the library, I decided to try again--a 28-CD set.  Daunting.  This time, though, even though I was listening instead of reading, I managed to separate the threads of the story, to figure out the relationships between all the families involved in this make-believe world.  Halfway through, though, I was taking a long drive with my husband, and I knew he wouldn't be interested in listening with me to the second half of a book he hadn't begun reading, so I pulled the paperback off the shelf and took it along. 

As much as I read and as many audiobooks as I consume, I rarely engage in this hybrid form.  It confirmed what I've suspected all along: it makes little difference how I engage with a book. Reading or listening works for me.  When I take that little online test "The Brain," my audio and visual preference dot usually winds up dead center.  Aside from having to shift from hearing the names to seeing their spelling, I made the transfer easily.  Since I'd devoted a good chunk of my free-reading summer to the book, I was eager to finish it--finally.  To my chagrin, I realize now that I am ready for Book Two. 

Hooked Again