By Margaret Mitchell
When I was a sophomore at Juilliard, I wanted to visit relatives in Lawrenceville, Virginia, but the only way I could afford to get there was by Greyhound bus. That's an 11-hour drive from New York, so I grabbed Gone with the Wind. I read the first half on the 11 hours down, and the second half on the 11 hours back.
Even though I loved the film, I found the book so much more vivid and emotional—in large part because of the scene where Scarlett and Rhett argue and then he carries her up the stairs in a fit of passion. In the movie, they fade to black and cut to the next morning, hmm... The intensity with which that scene is described in the book is not graphic but so rich and sensuous.