Decadence of losing myself in a novel

There may come a point in my life when reading for pleasure won't induce feelings of guilt. But not yet. Yesterday was the perfect day to get lost in a good book—and that's exactly what I did despite occasional calls of, "Mom," from my family just checking to make sure I was still in the house.

I've been reading Sashenka, by Simon Montefiore. If you're a fan of Russian history, you may know Montefiore's name from his former bestseller, "Young Stalin."

Usually, it's around 100 pages when I'm either committed to a novel or just struggling through. Almost to the page of this 500-plus page novel, I reached that point over the weekend and was compelled to keep plunging forward. Yesterday afternoon, I curled up on the sofa in between loads of laundry and by the light of the Christmas tree and read well into half of the book.

I'll save my thoughts on this novel until I'm finished, but suffice it to say there are whole passages that simply sing. It's a sweeping work with a complex and authentic main character who drives the narrative along with a cast of supporting characters who span the spectrum of 20th century Russian history.

I'll be sorry to finish and leave these characters behind.