(tl;dr: It’s about books that have been in my ‘currently reading’ pile for a really long time, reasons enigmatic.)
One would think I get off on humiliation (I really don’t), the way I throw around these posts taking the piss out of myself. Don’t worry, self-deprecation is just a vehicle, not the end goal.
I’ve been surrounded by books for as long as I can remember. Seeing as I’ve interacted with books for a really long time, and would like to continue to interact with them for forever and a day, I have developed quite a list of book related habits, some of them nasty. Thankfully, that is a story for another day, except one such habit.
I’m not a huge proponent of finishing every book you ever started. Some books are shit. Unless you’re a moral masochist, or specialise in roast reviews and shitposting, or get paid to read and review, there’s really no need for you to finish, say, anything ever written by Coelho, Dan Brown, or – DARE I SAY IT – Ayn Rand and Anais Nin. Maybe the journals of the latter, if you’re into that kind of thing.
So if I get about 20 pages in and realise there’s no hope, I’ll stop reading and donate the book to a good cause, otherwise known as my father’s fireplace. But these cases are few and far between, because I’m easily amused and love roasting a really bad book with my bestie. Verbally I mean – although now I’m getting cosy ideas of fires and marshmallows.
Conversely, if you got to about 80% of the book, you might as well finish it, even if you didn’t like it. I’m still thinking I should go back and finish the remaining 24% of Twilight and a book and a half of 50 Shades. Maybe one day.
And, of course, especially you must go back and finish the book if you liked it.
Which is where I falter somehow.
I get to a point where I’ve got like 30 pages left, I put the book away, and don’t pick it up again for a month. Sometimes more. Like, twelve months. Eighteen. There’s no apparent reason, except some shaky marbles in my head.
If I put my mind to it, this weekend I might finish about 15 books. I’d wager I’ve got about twice as much in the various states nearing completion, but let’s not overexert ourselves. And finally, we’re getting to the point of this text – six unfinished books and two manhwa that annoy me the most.
Slow Boat to China; Haruki Murakami
Murakami’s books and I go way back. Where I’m from, Far East Asian, especially Japanese and Korean, literature is experiencing a resurgence, so everywhere I look there’s a cute and dreamy late teens-early twenties boy/girl/other with a volume of Murakami in their hands. A lovely image indeed, but if you don’t pace Murakami, that shit’ll kill ya.
Slow Boat to China is a very small book of five short stories – and I’m stuck on about three and a half. This is the first contender to finally be finished next weekend. Maybe even before it. I might go and finish this book once this post is done.
Triptych; Karin Slaughter
First book in Will Trent series, but not the first I’ve read – because I am sometimes (collective voice of bestie and brother in the bg: “All the time”) slow and don’t realise there’s a whole series. The book itself is good overall. I have stopped judging books by whether I guess the twists or the perpetrators, really. Some of them I have, some of them I have not – but that’s beside the point. The point is, I’ve got about 80 pages left, practically the resolution. And I’ve just not been in the ✨mood✨.
Dandelion Wine; Ray Bradbury
It’s been about three summers now since I’ve started this, then put away, then remembered that I want to finish it – only by then it’s already autumn, so I must wait for the next summer. Ridiculous. I’ve got one month left of summer, give or take, so I must. finish. this. book. Because if I finish this one, then there’s another summer contender.
The Ink Black Heart; Robert Galbraith
That’s just disrespect to one of the not-so-many authors I’m close to venerating. Also if I don’t finish this any time soon, my bestie will kill me. I’ve got the seventh one in the series after this, and there’s another one coming out this late autumn – early winter. Hurry the fuck up.
The Setting Sun; Osamu Dazai
I need to let this book finally destroy me, so I can start No Longer Human and be disintegrated ever more. I’ve got about two chapters left.
The Son; Jo Nesbo
This book is not part of the Harry Holle series – and all the better for it, if you ask me. I like it enough to finish reading it – I like it a decent amount, actually – but once more I’ve just not been in the ✨mood✨. Mysteries and thrillers are probably my favourite genre, but somewhere along the line something has shifted, and I’ve got ✨moods✨ for it now. Suppose I could get myself in that ✨mood✨ once I start.
Wild Eyes (manhwa; het)
First ever manhwa I started, also a rare het amongst otherwise an exceedingly predominant bl line-up. When I first got into it, it was still an ongoing title, and now it’s complete. I have it in full, and recently picked it up again to finish. It’s not outstanding, but it’s not a bad story either. The setting is historical. I must admit it took me a bit to get used to the hats and the hair. Which is an interesting observation, but a subject for another day.
Painter of the Night (manhwa; bl)
I stopped reading this for a reason. My heart could not go on, and I needed a break, and I needed to know how it would end. Now that I know, and the entire world knows, I’ve just been taking my time reading it chapter by chapter here and there. I don’t want to say goodbye to it. Ever. I, too, have a Roman Empire, and Seungho is one of its most prominent caesars. But I guess I could always reread. I know I will. Ugh. I want to read it in original Korean. I want to read it in Russian, in Spanish, in German, in fucking French.
I must keep in mind that the older I get the more of a mood reader I become, but I’ve got so many books started (quite an outdated list), I might as well find something that would suit my mood of the moment. Plus there’s always non-fiction, which goes whatever way. My idea right now is to read one book/ title that I’m into, then read one book/ title that’s been in the stack of shame, then another one that I’ve been drawn to, then another one from this stack of shame, etc., until I’m done with this list, or it’s time for an update, whichever comes first. Partially I’m doing this to catch up with my challenge to read 37 books this year, which is completely doable – once I start finishing the damn books.
Now. Off to read. Close the damn door.
(that scene ugh. i’ll never look at the words ‘close the door’ in quite the same way again.)
