When I read a book, I want to get lost in it. To be transported to another time, another place, and – occasionally – another dimension. I want to lose track of the hour, to walk around corners with my nose glued to the words, to miss my stop on the subway. In short, I want an unbelievably awesome, uninterrupted cerebro-sensory experience.
And I don’t want to be reminded what page I’m on.
Page numbers pique me. I simply don’t see the point of them. They are a blemish on something beautiful, a reminder of reality. Who needs that when engrossed in a fantastic world of fiction? In ebooks, they are irrelevant, as the number of pages fluctuates depending on the type of e-reader used. And in print, many people (including myself) prefer a bookmark for the purpose of keeping their place.
Page numbers…phooey! I close the book on them.

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