Every so often in this historical text, you catch a glimmer of something, like heat lightning in the distance, that makes you realize this isn’t just some boring old history book about ancient history. Even with the blanket, the mug of coffee, and the purring cat, cold shivers keep running through up your spine and the hairs stand up on your arms. The problem is that your comfortable reading keeps getting interrupted. A book you will learn from, absorb, and then put on the shelf. A very good book, that is certain, but one that affects you in the same way as reading about King Tut or learning about Leif Erickson. You think this is another history book, nothing more. You become engrossed in the book, reading about politics and power struggles, learning names you didn’t know before, reading about wars you’ve never heard of, really no different than you read about Oliver Cromwell in England or the Ming Dynasty in Asia or Alexander the Great’s conquests. But however you do it, you settle in for an education in history, to learn about a mysterious culture and religion. Maybe you’re at the library, students cramming for exams in the carrels next to you. Maybe the cat is curled at your feet, a cup of coffee by your arm, a blanket thrown across your legs. You settle in for a long historical read.
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