I used to be able to read off the end of the bed, with the book on the floor and arms dangling down.

That's totally what I did as a kid, except crossways, so my feet were off the other side. Or up in the air, depending.

So creepy, -t!

When I was little I remember how enjoyable it was to re-read my favorite books.

Specific times, although this doesn't sound pleasurable -- one year when we were in North Carolina for the summer my grandmother gave me A Lantern in Her Hand to read when I got sick. I laid in bed and alternated playing with the Faux!Barbie my grandfather got for me and reading the book. Then we had to go home and laid in the back seat of Dad's LTD and finished the book and cried at the ending.

Also, sitting on the beach and reading Middlemarch. (actually most of reading at the beach, usually lying on the Comfy Coach with the fan blowing on me). In high school I spent about two weeks reading the Foundation series. I sat on the bed cross legged until my legs fell asleep and stayed up all night to finish it. Totally fried my brain, but it was worth it.

I'm not sure how to answer that. I mean, define?

As with most of my conversational fodder questions, I'm willing to let people define it on their own terms as long as their answers are interesting. However, what I meant was sort of where people have gone with it. Where the pleasure of the reading that particular work is so great and so closely allied in your mind with the physical details of the experience.

There's a particular pleasure that comes with stealing the time from work or homework, or the book was forbidden or gotten from somebody else's shelf, or discovered by accident or given by a close friend or, or having the house to yourself while your family / roommate / spouse are away or a period of vacation or holiday and the freedom to read.

But I also like the evocative details of drinking in a cafe in Prague while losing yourself in Street of Crocodiles or getting a paper bag full of an entire run of X-Men from a cousin and reading it in a treehouse, or sipping single-malt and reading Neuromancer, or smoking and reading Colette.

I used to be able to read off the end of the bed, with the book on the floor and arms dangling down. Hurts now, weirdly. That I could do for hours--but never fall asleep, because there's nowhere to rest your head.

This is how I read all through my teen years, precariously half balanced off the bed and slowly sliding. It was both reading and doing abdominal workouts. I think I was probably too restless and energetic to read without that physical activity when I was that age.

I used to read Interview with the Vampire sitting upside-down in a papisan chair (under my loft bed, behind a curtain), while blasting Phantom of the Opera on the stereo. At least I was a dedicated teen cliché.

Reading under the covers by flashlight. Drawing pictures of the "ornithopters" in pencil on my bedsheet, under where my pillow goes, 'cuz Mom will never see it there and an ornithopter has to look like this!

Other than this, I have no idea what DavidS is on about.

My sister and I would read like that after Mom made us go to bed. She'd turn off the lights, leaving the door open and the hall light on as always, and we'd wait until she went downstairs to catch the 10:00 news. Then we'd grab our books, lay cross-ways on whoever's bed was closest to the door at the time, and put our books on the floor to catch the most light. Mom knew about this, of course, so she would let it go usually until the weather report halfway through the broadcast was over and then come up and make us go to bed for real, after giving us the lecture about ruining our eyes due to the light level.

after giving us the lecture about ruining our eyes due to the light level.

When I was a kid I thought this was one of those parent lies, but considering I'm the only person in my family who's short-sighted, I probably should have listened. Meh, I REGRET NOTHING!

Ooh, here's a good one: reading "Brian and the Aliens," by Will Shetterly, aloud to my little brother, complete with voices.

This was probably late at night in bed, which is why I was reminded.

I used to read Interview with the Vampire sitting upside-down in a papisan chair (under my loft bed, behind a curtain), while blasting Phantom of the Opera on the stereo. At least I was a dedicated teen cliché.

I love you.

My eyes were shot from birth on (didn't get glasses until right before kindergarten, since babies/toddlers didn't go to the eye doctor unless they were blind back in the late '60s), so the light probably didn't effect me either way. My sister had to get glasses in 7th grade, for school and later for night driving, but my brother and two of his kids did too, so I'm guessing bad eyesight is genetic in our family.