yep, I am one of those people...I devour books. I don't just read them, I tend to enter them like most people enter a different room. (maybe that is how people who love movies watch films? personally I find it takes a lot to get truly lost & involved in a movie)
I get involved in what I'm reading. not all to the same extant, but it takes shallow writing + pretty lame plot for me to not care at all or --horrors, the very worst books get the unforgivable sin of not being finished. [*cough* twilight] the ones that captures my intellect and my heart? they're like magic, firing up my imagination something fierce! those ones are rare, and dangerous. I'm more dead to my surroundings than when I'm sleeping! it's as if I actually transport into the book...sometimes it's superb writing AND plot [book thief, ] sometimes it's amazing essence of story despite average writing [watership down]. sometimes I'm not transported by the story but the writing has superb moments so I keep reading as a treasure hunt, looking for random sentences & phrases that stand out to me. [the cellist of sarajevo--though the plot is grand too!] Even if it is poorly written, not my favorite, or one I'd never read again [ahem hunger games]; I'll still insert myself in some measure. Even if it's not the extant of walking around with my head in that world, arguing bits of plot or disagreeing with authors when I feel they've written something out-of-character for a specific character. (yes I fall in love with characters...moving on).
sometimes I'm glad to leave. not all stories are as inviting as others. there are more books I read just to finish or for intellectual or learning purposes than I do for joy. and some I start and can't finish because they are so poorly written or lamely plotted or disgusting...uugh.
every once in a while, a story comes along that grips me so powerfully it's as if I travel and live in that world. Characters take on distinct personalities, they become like friends. (this sounds like I have a mental disorder)
I hate finishing those books. the last page is like a final goodbye, an exit that leaves me a little melancholy. because no matter how well the story ends for them? my part is done. even if I re-read books, the magic of that first introduction isn't quite the same. some are rich enough, (to kill a mockingbird, narnia) to invite me back. they are such old friends that I find comfort in the familiarity; yet still find new reasons to appreciate them every time I re-enter. I'm still silly enough to be sad when I shut those ones. I want to keep going.
I wish I were a master storyteller. they know how to weave words into vehicles for sorrow, joy, loss. the best stories have a depth, a richness that hints at history or things untold behind the plot. I wish I could create characters with such realistic flaws & hearts that they awaken empathy in readers. I wish I had a magical capability to invent a world strange enough to invite exploration, yet familiar enough to feel real. oh well. I'd probably walk around lost in my own worlds all the time.