I have always always finished a book once I had started it.
Recently however I have ended up with a few books that weren't ones I had chosen, had been on my shelf for a while and felt more like a chore to read and I found myself alternating between ones I wanted to read and ones I felt I had to read just to get them off my shelf.
Now this approach sometimes throws up some blinders (On Beauty by Zadie Smith an excellent example) however it also throws up some duds (I'm not naming names, you are on my blog and can read my previous reviews). Anyway I've started to question why I always plough on with a book. The book club certainly don't, some without a moments hesitation yet I have always ploughed on in the eternal hope that all will come good and it will be worth it in the end. Those more psychologically inclined could take this as I'm an optimist.
When it came to reading An Air That Kills an English detective story based in 1950's about a set of bones seemingly belonging to a baby body found in a toilet in a disused pub, a book I had never fancied yet had ended up on my shelf, I questioned whether this was one I should even start reading yet alone finish.
Start I did, yet I found it unsurprisingly predictable. A detective new to the area and not local so frowned upon, a local black sheep who is immediately the suspect and a girl with a secret that will inevitable come to light at some point in the story depending on how far the author wants to drag it out. I got to about page 50 and then I stopped. I put it down and just like that I decided I wasn't going to read another page. You see it could well be the perfect 10 I've been looking for all my life, it could be a slow burner setting the scene before rollercoasting into brilliance or it could, most likely, not. I've read enough books in my life by now to get a feel for when a book is good or not and this one just didn't give off any sort of good vibes. Everyone is different, my 10 is anothers 4, the group has easily taught me that so I'm not saying this book was rubbish. I haven't read enough to comment on it in that way but I did read enough to know it wasn't for me and it felt quite liberating.
Which made me think, what are the circumstances when you should stop reading? I've learnt enough to know you can't judge a book by its blurb (The Martian, I am Pilgrim and Fingersmith for starters) and you can't always judge based on stereotyping (Triptych and The Anniversary Man are two excellent examples of the done to death american detective thriller). So how do I know when I should stop reading? Is there a certain percentage of book that should be read? If yes what is it? What are the signs I should look for? When should I fight on and read to the end? What's your criteria for giving up/sticking with? Let me know!
Recently however I have ended up with a few books that weren't ones I had chosen, had been on my shelf for a while and felt more like a chore to read and I found myself alternating between ones I wanted to read and ones I felt I had to read just to get them off my shelf.
Now this approach sometimes throws up some blinders (On Beauty by Zadie Smith an excellent example) however it also throws up some duds (I'm not naming names, you are on my blog and can read my previous reviews). Anyway I've started to question why I always plough on with a book. The book club certainly don't, some without a moments hesitation yet I have always ploughed on in the eternal hope that all will come good and it will be worth it in the end. Those more psychologically inclined could take this as I'm an optimist.
When it came to reading An Air That Kills an English detective story based in 1950's about a set of bones seemingly belonging to a baby body found in a toilet in a disused pub, a book I had never fancied yet had ended up on my shelf, I questioned whether this was one I should even start reading yet alone finish.
Start I did, yet I found it unsurprisingly predictable. A detective new to the area and not local so frowned upon, a local black sheep who is immediately the suspect and a girl with a secret that will inevitable come to light at some point in the story depending on how far the author wants to drag it out. I got to about page 50 and then I stopped. I put it down and just like that I decided I wasn't going to read another page. You see it could well be the perfect 10 I've been looking for all my life, it could be a slow burner setting the scene before rollercoasting into brilliance or it could, most likely, not. I've read enough books in my life by now to get a feel for when a book is good or not and this one just didn't give off any sort of good vibes. Everyone is different, my 10 is anothers 4, the group has easily taught me that so I'm not saying this book was rubbish. I haven't read enough to comment on it in that way but I did read enough to know it wasn't for me and it felt quite liberating.
Which made me think, what are the circumstances when you should stop reading? I've learnt enough to know you can't judge a book by its blurb (The Martian, I am Pilgrim and Fingersmith for starters) and you can't always judge based on stereotyping (Triptych and The Anniversary Man are two excellent examples of the done to death american detective thriller). So how do I know when I should stop reading? Is there a certain percentage of book that should be read? If yes what is it? What are the signs I should look for? When should I fight on and read to the end? What's your criteria for giving up/sticking with? Let me know!
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