The kind of books I like to read are about imaginary worlds.
Big worlds, little worlds, it doesn't really matter. What matters (for me) is how well I can relate to the author's vision--do I lift my eye from the page and lament th I'm still here in this universe, in this dimension? Do I sit back after closing the book and fervently wish I could transform words into reality?
The worlds of Harry Potter enchant me, it's true. So do the worlds of Robert Sawyer and Guy Gavriel Kay. The zany universes of Douglas Adams have their charms, and I feel quite at home in many of the alternate realities Robert Heinlein dreamed up.
But the two most inspiring places I've ever visited in fiction--and dearly wished I could stay forever in--are the brainchildren of one Spider Robinson. They are a bar called Callahan's Place and a brothel called Lady Sally's House.
What was that, Ken? Did you, with your avowed hatred of alcohol, actually profess to admire a bar?
Yup. Admittedly, a fictional bar: Callahan's is the kind of bar where drinking booze isn't required. What is required there is humanity, nothing more and nothing less. It doesn't matter what problems plague you out in the parking lot. When you step in to Callahan's, you'll be made welcome by everyone there. If you choose to share your problem, you'll get the undivided attention of all patrons; if you choose not to share your problem, nobody will press you for it, on pain of getting bounced. Sooner or later, you'll unload.
There've been some real problems aired around that bar. An intergalactic hitman wandered in once, mere hours before he was slated to blow up the Earth. They welcomed him, shared his pain, and managed to collectively figure out how to stop the process. Not too long after, he married the barkeep's daughter.
There are time travellers, a talking dog, a man with two wives, an honest-to-God-vampire, telepaths, precognitives, and all manner of wild and crazy folk. So far, these nuts have been called on to save the Earth, the universe, and the macroverse; and for an encore they'll pun your socks off.
Merry place, this Callahan's. Their philosophy is simple: Shared pain is lessened, and shared joy is increased. That's the kind of philosophy I wish our little planet would take seriously.
Callahan's wife Sally ran this brothel in Brooklyn until she had to close it down and go and save the universe somewhere herself. This bordello was the kind of place you'd expect a bordello to be...in a sane world, where sex was considered an art form and its practitioners were trained Artists. They had a Parlour that was, not surprisingly, pretty similar to Callahan's bar; the fun was so infectious that a client could spend the evening there without even thinking of 'going upstairs'. If you went upstairs, you'd find function rooms (the Teenager's Bedroom, the O.R., the Dungeon, among a host of others); the Bower (three rules: take no for an answer, don't pee in the pool, and anything that happens in here, stays in here); studio and living apartments for all Artists on staff; and a further world of wonders. The pervasive attitude: enjoy yourself and love each other.
Not to get all hippie or anything, but I like that idea, too, and think the world could use a little more of it.