Scientist + fantasy books of childhood

During winter break, I reread a series of books from my childhood, and they made me so unbelievably happy that they (of all the things I had to take back to Boston) made it into my suitcase.

Which makes me curious...do I like these stories because they remind me of a more calm time in my life? Or because they are just good books? Or am I craving some sort of escape?

In another vein, I am not embarrassed to admit that these are fantasy books, but it is odd to me that the favorite (and most comforting books) of my life are those which are not grounded in fact. I am a scientist. I cannot for the life of me figure out why these are the ones I love so much. Even my favorite poetry is fantasy (Marquez and CK Williams). Is it that these non-rational tales give me some separation between me and the world? Or do I crave the non-reality of it all? Or am I pretty much a princess with more powers than she thought in disguise?


(see those bells? she puts the dead to rest with her bells. they have names like saraneth, and she walks in death to serve justice. with pretty much awesome weapons. she's practical, clever, and creative. although her problems are, well, rather different from mine [fixing a country broken by dead things and betrayal vs. troubleshooting PCR] -- we both live consciously and fight the good fight. whatever that means.)

Or, it could be the idea that the pure abstraction is good for my brain, and it lets me wander through the possible and impossible...when you are so familiar with both, failure, complications, and frustrations don't sting as much.

When caught in the day-to-day monotony of lab work or school and problems that simply CANNOT be fixed no matter how hard you try, there is much comfort to be had when your soul is flying through literature, doing more than than just grasping at straws during current challenges. And now I know they are always on my bookshelf, ready to be read if I need them.