Who else has read a book that was totally dull, horrid, or otherwise unreadable, but stuck it through to the end?
And I don’t mean school texts.
At the airport a visit to W.H.Smith’s is always a must. In a hurry I grabbed a likely looking title: The Woman Who Went To Bed For A Year. I’m sorry, Sue Townsend, but that book was dreary. Your Adrian Mole stories are much better.
And it had a sad ending, for goodness sakes. [My spell check doesn’t like that final ‘s’ but that’s how I say it, so I’m leaving it)
I finished the book before we landed and pressed it onto my neighbor, not wanting to take it home.
The other one I remember – though I have totally forgotten the name (I wonder why) – was about a bunch of oddly assorted bears who trekked endlessly around looking for some place, and never seemed to get there. It just went on and on and on and on – you get the picture.
Mostly I love what I read; occasionally I stop when I’ve had enough – I never finished the Bitters book. There’s just so much technical stuff about small bottles of strong liquid that hold my interest.
But why do I – or anyone – finish a book they dislike intensely? Is a puzzlement.