There’s something special that happens a hundred pages into a good novel. I find myself seriously attached to the characters and thinking about their lives, as if they were real. Sometimes I can’t tell the difference between conversations I might have overheard and ones I read about.

A little loony, you say?

That’s the falling in I mentioned previously. When I was younger, I used to read every book, no matter how much I liked or hated it. I refused to put it down. A few years ago, I decided life was too short and started a limit of 100 pages. If I was still not into the book by page 100, I was putting it down, no matter who sang its praises. The 100-page limit worked well for me. It relieved me of having to read books that I truly detested and gave me room to get into the books I may not have otherwise enjoyed.

I haven’t read a really thick book since the summer of my Freshman year. That summer, I read The Fountainhead and Atlas Shrugged back to back. 1,800 pages of Ayn Rand is more than any sane person should ever have to endure. But I was on a roll. I devoured the books. Since that summer, I might have read a 400 or 500-page book but nothing in the vicinity the Rand novels.

After both my friends Tera and Jenn, who have literary choices that I respect, told me I had to (had to) read I Know This Much is True, Wally Lamb’s second book, I finally stopped fighting myself and bought the book. I had read his first, She’s Come Undone, on a plane ride to London and finished it in my room in London where I cried for way longer that I’d like to admit. I was reluctant to read anything else by Lamb, I wasn’t prepared for the amount of crying 890 pages could bring.

My friend Jenn said to force my way through the beginning if I needed to because it was worth it. I reset my 100-page limit to 500. If by page 500, I still wasn’t into it, I would put it down, no matter what Jenn or Tera said. What I wasn’t prepared for was how hard it had become to read a 900-page book since the last time I tried it. Days passed and I read in all my free time but I wasn’t making progress fast enough. My bookmark showed that I wasn’t even a third way through. Was the book simply not captivating enough or had my ability to read dwindled?

Well, I fell into the book around page 480. At that point, I barely functioned outside reading the book. I woke up, worked and then read at lunch. I worked some more and then, as soon as my day was over, I read and read until my eyes hurt. After a long week of reading, I have finally finished the novel. I didn’t shed one tear and it was fantastic.

Maybe my 100-page rule should vary with the size of the book after all.