When you pass on book after book, you have to wonder, is it them, or is it you?
Here is an abbreviated list of books I have been unable to finish recently, followed by my excuses.
Robert Harris, author of
The Ghost Writer, the basis of one of my favorite films from last year, also penned
Archangel. BBC made a series out of this, starring Daniel Craig, another seal of approval. Mr. Harris is an amazing writer, just pick up
Imperium and you will find yourself privy to the mind and soul of Roman Cicero, and you will care, and care deeply. Halfway through
Archangel, set in Russia five years back, however, I still had no idea what the title referred to, nor why I should care. Nyet.
The Family Fang by Kevin Wilson, whose book jacket details his many fellowships, awards, and a photo which reveals him to appear about 19; this is one of those novels that has been glowingly praised just about everywhere. So hip and arty that if flies far above my pedestrian interests in plot and plausibility. Halfway through I finally realized I'd rather have an ingrown nail than follow their lives any further.
Cryptonomicon by Neal Stephenson. Incomprehensible. Intentionally so. Put me right in my place and I returned said novel to its rightful place--somewhere between the potato peels and the coffee grounds.
Tattoos on the Heart by Gregory Boyle. I'll confess, this one's all me. The preface alone reminded me how little I've done with my life--and instead of galvanizing me forward I kind of got paralyzed, and was unable to turn to the next page.
Gentle reader, which novels do you admit to being unable to read to the very bitter end?