Two books I didn't enjoy

Many years ago, in a bid to overcome my obsessive need to finish reading every book I started, however abysmal they were, I created a 40 page and 80 page rule.  If I found myself disliking a book by page 40, and could find no redeeming features, or if I found a book wasn't compulsive reading by page 80, then I allowed myself to dump it.

But I've be breaking this rule recently.

Of the last two books I read, one shouldn't have made it past page 40, while the page 80 rule should've applied to the other.  The first one I stuck with, skimming across fifty pages or so before dipping into the story again, all the way through to the end, while the second didn't get the final flick until page 136.

I won't bother naming names here - there's nothing to be gained from that, except to prove yet again that what engages one reader won't necessarily engage another - but I do find this business of reading such books useful to a certain extent, inasmuch as it reminds me what makes a story work and what kills it.

Briefly, with the first novel, I thought it had an interesting storyline and the author had created a compelling narrative voice.  However, the main characters, who I was expected to be sympathetic towards, if not empathetic with, were tedious bores.  I didn't give a toss whether they lived or died, whether their lives were wracked with guilt or whether they ever found true love.  If I was on a bus having to listen to them, I'd have got off at the first stop and waited for the next one.  I'd rather stand in a blizzard than put up with their prattling.

The second novel was touted as a 'classy ghost story', although it seemed to be working a tad too hard at conveying literary classiness at the expense of pace and... well, substance.  One slow meandering after another that seemed to be getting nowhere.  Left me cold.

Why stick with them?  Well, what's usually a tower of books at the side of my bed, waiting to be read, is at an all-time low.  Having been let down by Amazon with a couple of titles, I've also been waiting several weeks for Fishpond to deliver the  debut novel of my friend, Mike French, but The Ascent of Isaac Steward is proving elusive.  I'll have to write to them on Monday if it hasn't appeared in the post by then.  Because of this, I've been making do with reading a few books that have been lying around, but now it's time to start building that tower again.