We choose books to read for many reasons: we like other books written by this author; a person with similar tastes suggests it; reading a review convinces us we’d like it; we want to learn about a particular subject; the book attracts us while we look through a shelf of suggested books at the library.

I thought about this kind of choice when I happened on a cozily familiar book about a family mystery in a British town home in the late 1800’s. For some reason, novels set in this time period attract me when I want escape reading. I checked out the book from our neighborhood library (a blessing of life surely is a nearby library.)

Perhaps it’s because the late 1800’s in Britain were fairly predictable for a good many people. Certainly, for Victorian poor as well as some subjects of the British empire, life was less than ideal, even horrible Yet the period breathes more order than many other periods—especially when seen from the years of the world wars, the Great Depression, and the nuclear age. It’s escape reading. I know that. Certainly I don’t want all my reading to be of this variety.

Nevertheless, as pure escape, it beats a good many other pursuits sometimes done for escape: eating too much, shopping, watching too much TV, for examples.

OK, it’s after supper. My husband and I are settled in our chairs. I’ve read the news items about election politics, Near East conflicts, and Russian aggression. Earlier, my husband and I played Scrabble, so we’ve used our minds a little.

I can pick up my shallow novel and escape with a clear conscience.