Yes, that rings true: a book is an infinite country with terrain to be marked out. Readers venture out onto its craggy or verdant face, like prospectors or pioneers: this one marks out a plot here, that one builds fences around a square space there. Some begin to dig, others start to build. Each one makes of this space what he or she will: there are no laws here teaching you what to do.
This land is broad: so large the residents may never see one another. This vastness of possible meanings means that they often encounter the pioneer's greatest fear: loneliness, the despairing thought that perhaps you may never share this view with another. Yet sometimes it happens that the paths of readers may meet; a chance word, a happy accident — somehow beyond the horizon you spy another visitor to this quiet land, and you hope.