I can still remember exactly where I was when I read

I can still remember exactly where I was when I read certain books: a damp guesthouse in Kyoto with a train rattling past the window, a ferry to Naxos that smelled faintly of diesel and sunscreen, a rainy week in Galway where I stretched one paperback for days just to stay inside that atmosphere longer. Some books stop being stories and turn into part of the geography of a trip.