The Chicago Tribune has an article on when people quit reading.
It made me laugh, too.
“Where does one begin with unfinished books?” writes Candace Drimmer of Chicago, a woman who won my heart right away by beginning with a rhetorical question. “It is all in realizing that books, like calories, can only be consumed in a limited number …” Alas, Candace, I am afraid that I am just as undiscplined in my consumption of books as I am calories. My hips, like my bookshelves, bear mute witness to this.
When do I quit reading? When the story isn’t engaging or I just can’t suspend disbelief or the pain keeps getting worse. I once stopped reading a book three pages before the end. It just kept getting worse for the main character and I knew there was no way that the author could redeem that pain by the end of the book, even if the author wanted to. It just wasn’t worth it to me. It was a fun read and I don’t take anything but literature if it ends sadly. I think there’s enough of that in life already.
I would love to know when you, my audience, the readers of this blog, quit reading.