One of the common things about good books is that they draw you in to feel compassion to the characters in the books. That’s one of the basic things they teach in author school, I suppose.
I’m reading Sylvia right now, and every now and then, I don’t just feel empathy for Leonard, I feel as if we’ve got the same experience. And it all makes me do is wonder: is it good writing, or do we really have everything in common? Am I being drawn in by a brilliant writer, or is it just that he and I think the same way, have had the same things happen to us?
I’m not sure. I’m guessing it’s more that he’s a brilliant writer who knows how to press my buttons, than anything else. After all, I don’t know any drug dealers, I’m not a literature lecturer, and I’m not married to a crazy woman who commits suicide.