Jane Austen chose 160,993 words to create her novel Emma. My first thought was that it was a very thick book. I had not the slightest sense of wanting to dedicate a moment of my boyhood wading through such a tome. The Hardy Boys was more my style.

But, with no sense of what risk I was taking, I read the first sentence.

“Emma Woodhouse, handsome, clever, and rich, with a comfortable home and happy disposition, seemed to unite some of the best blessings of existence, and had lived nearly twenty-one years in the world with very little to distress or vex her.”

No sooner was I finished than I thought, “Wait, read that again.” I read it slowly and there it was — the phrase that had drawn me back. “…… seemed to unite some of the best blessings of existence……”

How could the list of blessings that had just been offered only seem to be something grand?

Miss Austen had snatched me as securely as any Hardy Boys or Nancy Drew mystery could have done. I was owned by the author from word 14. She had me for every word thereafter. She had me for every page. I was her prisoner, and she had done it with one word.