I’m in love. It’s the sort of clichéd, swoon-filled love which inspires you to do things like cook extravagant meals and learn to waltz. This lover of mine is never clingy or needy, always there when I need him and he has the most wonderful way with words. His name is Mr. Darcy and we’ve been in a relationship for just under ten years. Anyone who thinks this is weird, lame, or doesn’t get it because they’ve never read Pride and Prejudice is to be pitied for they are missing out on one of the most beautiful relationships possible—the one between reader and fictional character. What does a ‘real’ lover have to offer that a literary character can’t provide? Sure, I have to share Darcy with several thousand other people in the world, but I never have to be subjected to the sight of him clothed in nothing but socks and passed out in a puddle of vomit. March is New Zealand Book Month and I challenge you to fall in love by opening a book and allowing Rhett Butler, Jane Eyre or Lestat de Lioncourt to woo the bejesus out of you.