Reading is all I seem to do, you will always find me in possession of a book of some description, mostly crime novels. My handbag was chosen not for colour, designer, or fashion but for the simple fact I could hide a book in it, and read when a quite moment presents itself. But where books come into their own, is when the dreaded movie is made. Sounds odd but I think having sat through a number of questionable “based on a book” movies I truly appreciate the book more. For a book has more time to tell the story and every nuance, every twist can be played out perfectly with nothing left behind. There is no need to cut the chapter short or omit a key character because it would make it too long. A book can be enjoyed at leisure, curled up on the sofa, coffee and chocolates at hand (Joanne Harris’s Chocolate is perfect for this, invest in the best choccies you can, makes the reading all the more indulgent). No rush, no noise. I find that there is something lost in translation from page to frame a significant amount of time. Having said that there have been a few notable books which have been brought to life by their directors and the actors who enact the pages- Stephen King’s The Green Mile, American Psycho by Bret Easton Ellis, The Bang Bang Club by Greg Marinovich and Joao Silve, and Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil by John Berendt. I am sure there a myriad of more titles that can be added to the list, but no matter how wonderful the movie, nothing can truly compare to the beauty of reading, stepping into a time or place removed from ourselves, to catch a glimpse of lost loves, moments of unforgettable turmoil and redemption.