Reading often fills a yearning need. Understanding, escapism and companionship. With a good book in your bag, the world is simply your oyster. The flick of a page can immediately transport you from a rainy, cold and grey commute to the sunshine filled forest where a winged dragon protects fair maidens from trouble.
Witty social commentaries, pithy historical adventures, London romps and the much beloved chick-lit brandished at the beach. I love them all. Each novel awaiting your attention, ready to seize fertile imaginations.
Lately I seem to mostly be reading what you might almost call fan-fictions; expansions of classic novels taken with unexpected twists. I’m not really sure if there’s a psychological implication underpinning this search, I rather doubt it. I was pretty unique to begin with. Perhaps actually, that’s what it is – a variation on an accepted theme can be so freeing.
My tale has been told again and again, and I’ve heard each one. Except for my hair, I barely recognize the pitiful renditions. Muddled versions, crafted to entertain laughing children…but the children wouldn’t have laughed if they’d known the real story. It wasn’t their fault. They didn’t know the truth. Nobody did.
Rapunzel, by KC Hilton is a ‘what if’ story, a fairy -tale retelling if Rapunzel wasn’t freed by a handsome Prince, but forced to survive for hundreds of years, still locked up in her turret. So close to touching the modern world, and yet so far removed. It’s a perfect weekend read, simple, moving (though with a terrible love triangle – there, I said it) and a perfect escapism read.