There are books that appeal to the senses, that produce emotional responses. There are books that appeal to the intellect, that require thinking. Is one more satisfying than the other?
I remember reading and sobbing over every romantic novel written by the Taiwanese writer Chiung-Yao. She had a formula that worked—beautiful people tangled in heart-wrenchingly poetic circumstances— elevated romanticism for a generation of Chinese.
And then there were the classics, written in a language that was no longer spoken. The pride of having finished reading books such as “The Three Kingdom” and “Dream of the Red Chamber” was immense.
It all depends on need. I still pull out a tissue paper to dab my eyes when I re-read those Chiung-Yao romance. (She is the best). I dive into the classics when I think of China and the armchair my father bought me, where I sat reading well into the night.
