Everyone says that the power is in placing people somewhere else; transporting your readers into another world; other hearts. But the power here is in taking you outside yourself, not entombed in the labyrinths of fictional minds in fictional worlds but above them, outside them and your own too, making you feel old, and aching, but also like you know something of how things actually play out, in life. For those few brief minutes after you’ve been brought to the edge of tears by fiction you think you understand. And maybe you do. And then the veil of your own life and its demands and constraints settles back down, like a dew, dampening everything, seeping into everything, and those moments when you were flying above, so knowing and so impossibly alone, begin to drift, to fade, like clouds, lost maps; like dreams.