Is there a name for that feeling you get when you finish a book?
I’m kind of sad, but satisfied, but nostalgic, but feeling a sense of loss, but also feeling a sense of closure because I know what happens in the end, “parting is such sweet sorrow”…
I’m not ready to start reading a new book yet, but I’m also not ready to put the old book down. I feel unsettled, like half of my mind is in another world. Tendrils of thoughts and feelings that do not belong to me, yet resonate like a clear bell pull my conscious mind out of the present and into a nonexistent world that feels far more real to me than the ticky-tacky world I’m currently living in.
I’ve tried to find a word for this feeling, but I guess I’ll have crudely to create my own: postlectical ennui.
Which books have left you with this hungover feeling? Share your favourites in the comments below.
 Shakespeare,W. Romeo And Juliet. 2.2:176–185