My love for reading probably began with my mother, Mrs. Rajalakshmi Kannan.
Growing up, I would see her reading Shakespeare, Antony and Cleopatra, and then discussing it with my grandfather. Those images stay with you. There was something about watching them talk so passionately about a book, its characters and its ideas that made me want to be part of that experience too.
Going to the library during the holidays became a ritual through my childhood and teenage years. I would carefully browse through the shelves, deciding what to bring home, and then disappear into my books.
My mother and I would often go together.
We would each pick a book, come home and start reading. Inevitably, one of us would finish first and have to wait for the other to finish so we could exchange books. Eventually, we decided two books were clearly not enough. We started taking four books on every visit, two each, and still somehow ended up waiting for each other to finish the ones the other had picked.
And of course, the books became conversations.
We discussed the characters passionately, argued about their choices, speculated about what they would do next, and sometimes spoke about them as though they were people we actually knew.
Jeffrey Archer was one of the authors who became part of those years of reading. I read many of his books, but Kane and Abel was always special.
Like many readers, I was completely drawn into the lives of Kane and Abel. The ambition, rivalry, fortunes, setbacks and sheer sweep of their lives made the story unforgettable. More than anything, the characters stayed with me.
Some characters belong to the time in which they were written. Kane and Abel somehow seem to belong to every generation of readers.
Then came 2007, when I moved to Atlanta, US.
The bookworm in me developed a new weekly ritual. Monday evenings meant a trip to the library, followed by taco takeout and, more often than not, staying up far too late reading whatever book I had brought home.
It was during one of those library visits that I spotted The Clifton Chronicles.
Jeffrey Archer. A new series. And, in my mind, the next Kane and Abel.
I grabbed it.
Clearly, I had learned nothing about moderation.
I patiently worked my way through the first book, Only Time Will Tell, all 600-odd pages of it. And, just as I had hoped, I was completely hooked. Archer had once again created characters whose lives became more interesting than whatever I was supposed to be doing with mine.
The story moved beautifully. The suspense kept building. Every chapter seemed to have another revelation waiting.
So naturally, I reached the end expecting some sort of conclusion.
Instead, Archer left me hanging right in the middle of an unexpected twist.
I turned the page.
Nothing.
No resolution.
No answers.
Just the unmistakable feeling that the author had packed up his belongings and left me alone with the suspense.
I immediately searched our local library database for the next book.
Nothing.
That was when I finally Googled the series and discovered the truth. Only Time Will Tell was the first of five books in The Clifton Chronicles.
Five.
Apparently, I had not picked up a book.
I had signed up for a long-term relationship.
And yet, even my frustration was a compliment to Archer. The reason I was desperate for the next book was simple: I cared about what happened to those characters.
That, perhaps, is what has kept me coming back to Jeffrey Archer for so many years.
His greatest strength was not merely suspense. It was his ability to create characters who remained alive in the reader's mind long after the book was closed.
From library visits with my mother, waiting impatiently for each other to finish a book and then exchanging them, to passionately discussing fictional characters as though they were people we knew, to Monday evenings in Atlanta with a library book, tacos and a very questionable bedtime, Jeffrey Archer became part of my reading life.
Some books are finished when the last page is turned.
Some stories stay.
Kane and Abel stayed.
And now, with Jeffrey Archer gone, I realise something even more meaningful.
Writers may leave us. Words don't.
Extraordinary writers do something even more remarkable. They create people who never existed and give them lives so vivid that they outlive the person who created them. They leave behind characters, thoughts, choices and conversations that continue to live in the minds of readers they will never meet.
They remain immortal.
Jeffrey Archer may no longer be here to write another page.
But Kane and Abel are.
Harry Clifton is.
And somewhere, years from now, someone will still pick up one of his books, become hopelessly invested in a fictional life, argue about a character with someone they love and turn one more page long after they should have gone to sleep.
His new novel, Adam & Eve, was scheduled to be released just a day after he passed away. A new Jeffrey Archer book arrives in the world, even as the writer himself has just left it. Perhaps that is the most fitting way for a writer like Jeffrey Archer to remain part of the conversation.
Readers still picking it up. Discussing it. And, inevitably, talking about him.
What a career. What a legacy of stories.
Thank you, Jeffrey Archer, for all those worlds.
Your stories remain.
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