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As a reader, my preferences for setting are contingent on the story. This is probably going to sound crazy, but the only time I love for the setting to be a significant component is when it is a setting of which I’m personally familiar: that is, I’ve been there, or I really want to have been there. For example, when I read The Handmaid’s Tale I had recently returned from a trip to Boston. I loved being able to picture the hanging wall on the gates of Harvard because I had just stood there myself. Don’t misunderstand, if the setting is not one of my personal chosen locations, I enjoy visualizing the author’s descriptions, but to truly embrace it, I prefer concrete experience. This idiosyncrasy proved true when I read “The Beautiful City of Tizrah.”
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