Apparently this is my year to give up on books. Really, I feel like I have so many books I want to get through this year. I really want to whittle down my list a bit. And I love that feeling when I start a book, and I just can't wait to pick it up again and get back to it. I guess I've decided that there are so many books in the world I feel that way about, that it's not worth it to spend too much time on a book I don't feel that way about.
This book wasn't terrible. It was good writing. The characters were well-written and the story was moving. But I just found days going by before I'd want to pick it up. I always found an excuse to do something else. Finally, I admitted to myself that I just didn't really like the characters. I couldn't relate. And I wasn't really interested in finding out if they became more relatable. So I gave up and moved on. I've started to make a list on the sidebar of books that just didn't make the cut. Sadly, I anticipate more of this, because my standards are just getting more stringent. I don't have time for books that aren't fabulous.