A Weird Little Guy In Trouble

I've been thinking about the kinds of books read for comfort. I've talked in the past about how I like books with a sense of place, that offer a chance to settle in, find our bearings, and go exploring. More specifically recently I'm realising that I like books about labyrinths of all kinds, but often manifesting as great or unusual cities. The Name Of The Wind, Ombria In Shadow, Gormenghast, Senlin Ascends, all of these have a kind of winding scale to them that makes it easier for me to feel like I'm caught up in something larger, observing just a small moment of it. I love the spectacle of these kinds of books. Feeling swept up in them and forgetting the reality of my moment. To be lost and confused with someone else, somewhere else.

I wonder if some of the enjoyment of these settings comes from the idea that this is how they're meant to be. That it is natural and right for things to turn in on themselves and go wrong, rather than a frustration or a disappointment.