In spring of 1992, I was nine years old,

and I was vacationing with my family in sunny Orlando, Florida.

We'd been at Universal Studios all morning when I wondered

past a small merchandising kiosk with a fatch roof

made to look like a jungle hut of some kind.

And the kiosk counter was flanked by two small monitors

that were running a teaser trailer for an upcoming film

on a continuous loop.

The only item being sold at the kiosk was the book

on which this upcoming film was based.

I could not believe what I saw.

I was so distracted by the images, so struck by them,

but I find myself returning to them constantly throughout the day.

And my parents witnessed me all struck,

and though they were pretty frugal and rarely bought us souvenirs

or trinkets outside of sanctioned gift-giving occasions,

they happily purchased this book.

So undeniable was the impression it made on me in an instant.

It became my first grown-up novel.

The first I ever read it, I was enamored with it.

I read it slowly and carefully, not wanting it to end,

and then I read it again, and then I read it again.

...