We all know what bookworms look like, don't we? In grade school, they are the kids whom no one wants to play with because they always have their heads between the pages of a book. They are oblivious to the rest of the world, just like earthworms. Later, in college, they spend their days and nights in the library, huddled in their study carrels and glaring at anyone who dares to slow their progress through War and Peace. When they enter the real world, bookworms try to escape into unreality at every chance. They shrink behind their desks and open their books secretively as their office mates gather to pick a fun restaurant for lunch. Bookworms are the dullest of the dull, so says conventional wisdom. Conventional wisdom is wrong. Having the label, bookworm does not mean locking one's self away for days and ignoring the rest of the world. Rather, it means one is in love with all the adventures and knowledge which the written word holds, plus all the varieties of life one so rarely encounters in the course of an ordinary day. Finally, one wishes to share these blessings with every innocent passerby. Bookworms are by nature social creatures.
             An exquisite book is a substantial find for a bookworm, and he/she probably right then will think of getting alone with it as soon as possible. But that thought doesn't last long. It is soon followed by more urgent notions. Namely, who should be told about this masterpiece, and who should actually receive a copy, the lucky soul, for his or her next birthday. This is why people form book-discussion clubs. This is also why people standing in line at Shop 'N Save point to the newest addition to the paperback rack and ask their neighbor, "Ever read that Grisham guy? Me, I couldn't put his last one down. Heck of a good read." There is something in them which does not like to keep a good book. However, the definition of a good book is sometimes much of a secret. One may consider a good book just something ...