How To Read The Star Wars Books Novels & Stories

“She shared a few names. She had a whole fucking list. There is one I like, Aeryn, it’s from this show Farscape.” Osiris looked at me like I was fucking makes up words. So I went to the rest of the list. Leia had sent it to me, so I read it off my phone. “Elora is the baby of Willow, in the movie. You know with the fucking little person that becomes a wizard?” Osiris looked like I was talking about fucking rocket science again, doesn’t this guy ever watch a fucking move? “Nope? Okay, next one Allana is actually Leia and Han’s granddaughter in the fucking Star Wars books, you don’t fucking care do you?”

“So how did he find The Phantom Menace then?” “Well. He did not quite burn George Lucas in effigy. But from that day forth, his life was ruled by two great passions.” She laughed. Then winced. Then remembered why she’d suggested Star Wars in the first place. “Aiden. You do know there’s, like, new new Star Wars, right? And it doesn’t suck.” “Really?” “Yep. Nobody says anything about midi-chlorians. And no trade routes are even remotely in dispute.” “That does sound rather more like the Star Wars my father enjoyed.”

“And let me know how the Smith ones are, I've been meaning to check him out.” A few minutes later Janice lay down on her cot and gingerly opened one of the books. She was always careful with books she got from the library, especially those that came from other places. She had an almost obsessive fear of damaging one of them and being told she could no longer borrow books. The thought disturbed her so much that she started to flip past the title pages and began to read. Before long, she was drawn into the novel which seemed to be about two races of aliens and their struggles over a galaxy that would one day be called the Milky Way. She was totally engrossed in the narrative when the words beg

He turned to scan the old, pressed-wood shelf to his right, the kind found at K-Mart or Wal-Mart and not requiring any real skill to assemble. He unconsciously rolled the eight ball in his hands as he scanned the shelves. These books offered a trip down memory lane. His teenage collection of Star Wars novels. At one time he could’ve made the proud declaration he owned every one. Even the hard-to-find Han Solo novels from the late seventies. He’d stopped collecting them halfway through college, though. Now he owned only a fraction of the franchise’s backlist.

I entered mine, went through the three books I had gotten from the store, and set them down on the bed. I folded my arms and read their names. The Claiming Rites, Finding the One, and Under the Red Moon. There was no order in which anyone should read these books, so I sat down and picked up The Claiming Rites. After an hour, I finished reading. The book made zero sense, and then I picked up Finding the One and spent another hour reading through it. While the first book was incomplete, the second made a little more sense. I picked up the third, which I had gone to Zion’s room with. I took my time reading, and another hour went by.