When reading Ann Pachett's Bel Canto, I was so engrossed that I found myself reading the book while at the gym. I couldn't put it down. While this made for some awkward weight lifting sets and seasick moments on the elliptical, I couldn't let go. The story:
Somewhere in South America, at the home of the country's vice president, a lavish birthday party is being held in honor of the powerful businessman Mr. Hosokawa. Roxane Coss, opera's most revered soprano, has mesmerized the international guests with her singing. It is a perfect evening—until a band of gun-wielding terrorists takes the entire party hostage. But what begins as a panicked, life-threatening scenario slowly evolves into something quite different, a moment of great beauty, as terrorists and hostages forge unexpected bonds, and people from different continents become compatriots. Friendship, compassion, and the chance for great love lead the characters to forget the real danger that has been set in motion . . . and cannot be stopped.
I had no interest. Nothing about the back cover called to me. But finally enough friends had the "You haven't read Bel Canto?" moment and a writer on a forum I frequent suggested it to help me with some POV trouble in FLIGHT. I gave in and read.
So I picked up Run.
Again, no interest in the plot. Zilch. But the writing is keeping me going. And I think I have finally pinned down what has me so engrossed in Pachett's work: She writes the way I think. The cadence of her voice is akin to the way thoughts break across my own brain.
Run is not textured the way Bel Canto was, it is nothing like sinking into warm bath water or running your hand over a new quilt. I do not love any of the characters the way I grew to love many of the principles in Bel Canto, but I feel them, I know them.
