Booktok Literary Fiction Novels & Stories

she said. “Yeah. Exactly. Like she had a book in her.” “Okay, that’s some legit weird spooky shit right there,” she said. “How so?” “Nah, just someone in a bookstore said that to me recently. That I had a book in me.” A quick shrug. “Weird.” “Damn right it’s weird.” Margo smiled. “I know, right?” “Right! I mean, a bookstore? For real? Are those even a thing anymore?” ***

The moment she crosses the threshold and her feet met the cool, welcoming touch of her bedroom floor, she allows herself to sink onto her bed, the cushions yielding to her weight. With a deep sense of purpose, she extends her hand towards the book nestled on her bed, cradling it tenderly. Astrid could scarcely contain her curiosity, her fingers quivering with the exhilaration of the adventure awaiting her. As she opened the book, she was instantly transported into a world as captivating as the printed pages itself, where words spun tales of Supernatural beings beyond her wildest imagination. The book unveiled a hidden realm, one inhabited by nine extraordinary entities, each with its own uni

when it comes to gist and details about her life so she left no details when she was telling her about Ohio, they sat and talked for almost an hour before other students of literature started coming in, they knew their class was about to begin so they ran for the front seat so they could get a better glimpse of there lecturer and a better view of everybody who was giving an opinion on the book to be reviewed. Stephanie wondered what literary work they would be reviewing that day. She anticipated it like a person who was waiting for the lottery to be won. "Calm down sis, you would soon know what we will be reviewing" Mirabel teased. In a few minutes, the lecturer came in and started the clas

Flipping open the book randomly, my eyes skimmed over words that made no meaning to me. I turned around as heavy footsteps approached, only to find Yeti balancing a ridiculous amount of books in her arms. “Found some good stuff—” she paused as her eyes strayed to the book I was holding. “What is that?” “A book?” She walked past me, dropping the heaps of books on the table before turning back to me. “Let me see that.” She said, prying the book from my fingers. “Forgotten Beasts: A Study on the Supernatural.

***** Book Two: Betrothed to the Ruthless Barbarian King Leila’s point of view I just ran out of pages, I closed the book slowly, reluctantly….. like the story would disappear forever if I shut it too fast. It didn’t, it never did. That was the problem with reading fictional books. The stories didn’t end when you reach the last page, they stayed. They clung to your chest, wrapped around your thoughts, sank into your bones like something permanent, leaving you stranded in the last paragraph like someone pulled the ground beneath your feet mid step.

Bless the oblivious and underpaid. She didn’t bother with the café. Too exposed. She slid instead toward the back—past biographies, past religion like a polite nod to an old neighbor, into the cool belly of fiction. The store had been designed by someone who loved introverts: a few deep armchairs tucked in half-shadow at the end of a long aisle, lamps that glowed like patient moons. She claimed the chair at the far corner, where the shelves made a narrow canyon and you could see trouble coming long enough to close the book and pretend you’d been reading a different life all along.

Sprinted to the door, I pulled it open, not expecting it to open, but it did, causing my heart to swell in joy. Ambling to the shelf, my eyes darted round the various book covers. Fiction was my favorite book to read because the best thing about reading was to be able to escape from your life, to be able to read hundreds or even thousands of other lives. Non-fiction does not have that power, it does not change you the way fiction does. To me, if you are not affected somehow, even if it is the slightest change, you are not reading the right book. I would love to think that every novel I have read has become a part of me and created who I am in a sense.

At that time, a tall, brown-skinned, curly hair man who was aged about 40 was trying to show him the best book he had got on his display stand. Lin looked at the book and scanned it with much attention. He did not seem to notice other passers-by who cast a glance at him. Among the books, he saw a wide range of good English novels of George Orwell, Amy Tan, Amitav Gosh, Wendy Law-Yone, and many others. At a time, Lin found a book he was looking for. It was a book titled "Saving Fish From Drowning" written by Amy Tan. Then, a bargain between them settled, and Lin happily left behind the smiling bookseller, who held some notes in his hand.

Though I'm confuse, I casually said, “This wondrous of a place usually empty. People forgot to pay a visit or to even got themselves immerse to the world that this wondrous of a place offer them with sincerity. I thought you are highly affected by such a failure of showing gratitude to literature coming from them?” His eyes couldn't actually intimidating but there's a melancholy that I didn't expected to seen. My statement just now goes awakwardly, and I chuckled as that to forgot my place on this unknown and strange of a place. I cough and turn my head to the shelf that offer a variety of book that looks bloody yet comforting. “Oh,” I gasped, not able to hide my awed. “That's a classic...”

I dump my bag on the floor and read through the shelf while pulling books out and mumble as I go. ‘Even a book can be dangerous in the wrong hands.’ ‘Ignite.’ ‘Hell is empty and all the devils are here.’ ‘You’ll make bad choices. Sometimes you’ll choose the best of bad ones.’ ‘Tuesday is Fucked.’ ‘Everything’s a game. And now it’s your turn.’ I have a stack of about 10 books before I abruptly stop. "Next isle." I say and we walk up and down the library isles. I climb and jump to get books off of shelves and Aidan has to catch me a couple of times when I fell.