The best kind of books are those that are honest. Their love is borne verbatim from their author’s parental affections: word by word, they expose their very being for their beholder’s mind and heart.
Their honesty can become so contagious that you, the reader, gradually opens your heart to their pages. You shed a tear or two when the characters’ pain blooms; you laugh when they can’t contain the bliss in their chests. Their words send your pulse rushing, dragging you with the charging plot.
The reading experience becomes more personal this way. You and the books clandestinely share a piece of your souls to each other, and more often than not, the intimacy lingers even after the you have turned the last page.
The best kind of books are those that are honest; the best kind of books are those that are alive.