What do you get when you combine one part Ender’s Game with two parts Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, shake, and pour over 1980s-pop-culture-flavored ice cubes?
You get Ernest Cline’s Ready Player One, the next book on your reading list.
I discovered Ready Player One during a layover at the Denver International Airport. I had four hours to kill, no internet at my disposal, and it was the only book in the display that wasn’t Fifty Shades of Grey, a random crime novel, or some pundit’s latest money grab. You’re not supposed to like books you find in airports; they’re just meant to entertain you enough to help you (almost) forget the guy to your left hogging your armrest and the guy to your right blocking the window. But Ready Player One was so good, I stayed up until 3am to finish it after reaching my destination.