What makes you decide not to finish reading a book?
Someone asked this at my local book club recently. And despite hearing very valid answers from others, I realised I had no tidy answer of my own. It got me thinking about books I had given up on, and books I felt no satisfaction in reading to the end, over the course of many bookwormish years. Is there a method to this madness?
No, there isn’t.
That said, I’m often confident within the first few chapters whether I’ll make it to the end.
A book is a journey. It takes effort, there will be annoying parts, but you persevere because you intuit a reward far greater than the sum of the shit bits. Of course reading is boring and hard and tiresome. It’s unnatural, exacts a non-trivial cognitive demand. Humans didn’t evolve to read.
But my, how much pleasure we are capable of wringing from the written word. This is why we choose to keep reading.
Except, of course, when we don’t.
What has made me decide not to finish reading a book?
A bunch of reasons. Here, now. In no particular order. Sometimes mutually exclusive, sometimes in conjunction with each other.
The language didn’t put me in the mood. This usually stems from a writing style that doesn’t match what’s happening in the story. For example, sexy and emotional scenes written like technical documents, or excessively elaborate in-between moments that hinder the flow. I mean this very loosely and with nuance, of course, because I’ve read enthralling scenes written in artfully dry language, as well as simple transitions that became poignant moments through being beautifully rendered.
The characters didn’t resonate. Which is a frustrating concept, because it highlights so many biases and so many different perspectives. You could encounter a fantastic character, precisely written, with clear goals and sky-high likability … and just not vibe with them. I’ve DNF’ed books with characters I liked, and finished books with characters who annoyed me, all because of that je ne sais quoi that kept me hanging on. With my writer hat on, I can try my best, study all the books, take my characters out to many brunches to get to know them before writing, and feel great about doing my homework. But with my reader hat on, I know the truth. My darlings won’t get along with everyone.
Bad timing. Just bad timing. The standout example I give for this is True Refuge by Annabelle McInnes. I’m not shy about calling out this book here, because it’s an excellent MMF erom with a lot of heart. But it’s also set in a post-apocalyptic “dystopian wasteland infused with violence and cruelty”. And I picked it up in early 2020 😅 My bad. I had guts of steel, but a heart of glass, and one chapter was enough to break me. Terrible timing on my part. This was more a could-have-been DNF, since I did pick that book up again at the end of the year, and found the healing read I needed.
Trope, genre or setting fatigue, which I don’t realise until after I’ve started. Sometimes I’ve just had my fill of strong heroines, and things that go bump in the night, and neatly wrapped happy endings. Maybe I want my boss babes interspersed with unlikeable FMCs overcoming their trauma. Sometimes I’m done spending time in a particular world. This is one hundred percent on me as a reader, and why I’m so grateful that there’s such a variety of books out there. Which brings me to the final reason …
I am burnt out from having too many books to read. Otherwise known as “Strain Burnout”. My big TBR pile glowers at me constantly, and I buckle under the pressure of too much. It’s why I no longer keep a to-read list or a queue of books. It’s why I’m now very intentional about my reading choices, letting my “mood reader” tendencies guide me. I really do like to finish books. I just have to do it my own way.
Can you relate? Want to share your own DNF experiences? Drop a comment or write a blog post of your own and drop the link.
Apologies in advance that, due to Blogger account issues, I can’t reply in the comments. If you’d like to chat about this instead, you can always get in touch.
You & I — a satisfying finish
When Marcus and I meet, it’s never in public. It’s always his place when his housemates are out, or my place when Craig’s out. Sometimes we check into a hotel, or a motel or an Airbnb under a fake profile. It’s always somewhere private.The clock outside strikes the hour. Our shirts lie in a tangle on the floor. My bra joins them. His breath is on my neck now, and I’m not sure why we keep this to ourselves. It’s not like we know the same people, not like we’re attached to anyone else.
1 comment:
I've only had a couple of DNF books. One was by Stephen King - who I used to love - but can't stand now. His writing has become exceedingly self-indulgent and in need of editing. Some of his scenes go on forever w/o adding anything to the story. I wish I could recall the name of his first book I couldn't finish, but I can't. It was that forgettable.
The other was by Margret Atwood. I adored The Handmaid's Tale and couldn't wait to read her other works. They were so different from THT, they seemed to be written by another person. Couldn't finish those books either.
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