It’s rare that I don’t finish books. But today, I have made the decision to step away from a book.
It feels sort of wrong, as though I’m cheating on it, and insulting the writers and everybody who’s worked with it, and everybody else who read it. It feels a bit like maybe I read it wrong somehow, like I’m missing the bit that made everybody go “Oh.”
But this book sits uncomfortably with me. The key twist is one that I cannot, really, stomach. I won’t precis it because, to be honest, you’ll all figure out the title and I’m not for spoiling what may be the best book ever to somebody else. This post isn’t for that.
It’s so strange that this book has left me so … blind. I’m even struggling to write this, to formulate my thoughts and feelings about this strange taste in my mouth. I don’t like it. I don’t like the feeling and I really don’t like the book now.
Uncomfortable, too-close, oddness.