The first Wednesday of every month at 6 p.m., people gather in the Sorrento Hotel and they don't talk to each other.

Talking is discouraged.

It's a party. People drink. There is music. But there is no talking.

This is a very Seattle kind of party. It's a silent reading party.

The Sorrento Hotel, just a couple blocks down from campus on Madison, is what you would call "classy." It was built in the Italian Oasis style, which means there is a giant fountain in the oval-shaped courtyard out front. Inside it's all Rococo-looking carpets and upholstered leather everything. Chandeliers, moody oak paneling, it's basically the Clue mansion, but with less murder. The Fireside Room is the pride and joy of the Hotel — a dimly lit, romantic, circular room with gorgeous fireplaces.

And this is where everyone at the three-hour party spends their night.

Sitting in a chair.

By a fire.

Reading quietly to themselves.

The reading party is a party where pretty much nothing happens. It's great. Too much happens already. The prospect of sitting motionless and staring into a book for hours is exciting, because who ever asks you to do nothing?

The room completely fills up 20 minutes after the party starts. Mozart is playing (did you know Mozart is great? He's great. That guy was playing for royalty at the age of five).

The ages in the room range from 20 to maybe 65. All sorts of people are here. Lawyer-y looking people, schlubby middle-aged men, librarian types, joggers, writers from The Stranger. Everyone here definitely owns a scarf, even if they aren't wearing it.

Taking three hours out of your day to sit in silence is a surreal experience. During the first half hour, everyone in the room seems a little on edge. They look around, expecting something to happen. They check their phones. They stare at the wall. This thing called "quiet reading" is a hard thing to do. You almost feel guilty just sitting there, thinking about all the things you aren't doing at the moment that need doing right-now-this-instant. At the very least you want to chat up the person next to you.

But then a funny thing happens. Everyone relaxes. It goes truly silent, and everyone remembers this great thing called "the book."

People are reading all sorts of things. We have "Dracula," most likely a holdover from Halloween. We have a smattering of books recognizable from Elliott Bay's suggested reading wall. We have the New York Times, graphic novels, romance, postmodern literature, the whole shebang.

Everyone is nose deep.

Throughout time, the biggest appeal of stories has been their ability to transport you to another place. The magical thing about the Silent Reading Party at the Sorrento is that a mass of grown adults all sign up to simultaneously be communally transported in a way that we haven't replicated since we were children. Everyone is next to each other, yet they are all on their own separate little journeys in their books. There is no crap in the way to snap you back to the boring adult world we live in.

And then a live cellist comes in and makes it all the more magical. Yes, a live cellist. Every reading party is accompanied by live classical music, which will make you feel like you are inside of Rushmore even more. That, and the $5 Manhattans. The only noise you'll hear at the Silent Reading Party is that of a suited-up waiter or waitress asking you if you'd like another drink or an order of truffle fries.

Having been engrossed in a fictional tale, the real world will seem a little strange when you finally exit the Sorrento. You will still be living inside of your book. The streets will look unfamiliar and people walking down the sidewalk won't seem real. Your subconscious will suddenly start narrating everything with fancy words you would never use. It's disorienting. It's not unlike coming back from a long trip in a foreign country.

It's fun being disoriented.

And strangely, that's the main feeling you will take away from the Silent Reading Party. A pleasant sense of disorientation, because you've just taken time to that reading thing that nobody has time for anymore. It's weird, and it's fantastic, and it's kind of like being drunk. Just a little floatier and more high-minded. Plus you feel a lot better about it. You heard it here first: books are the new beer.

When the first Wednesday of the month comes around, head on down to the Sorrento. Just make sure you aren't going for the purpose of picking up any literary hotties — once again, they aren't going to talk to you. You're going to want to talk to them. You are going to want to show them what you are reading and rave about how great it is, how they can't not check it out. But that's not allowed. Don't ruin the magic.

Kelton may be reached at entertainment@su-spectator.com