My first complaint as a reader? I don’t have enough time! How can I complain about reading if I don’t have time to read??? Fortunately, I’ve been forcing myself to spend at least a little time doing some writing, so I haven’t reached epic failure yet. But still. I want to read! Even if the book is lame.
Although, come to think of it, perhaps part of the reason I haven’t been reading is because I’m dreading going back to the story I’m currently working on. Here’s the background of the story… It starts with a garage sale, during which the owner’s husband drives off and leaves her forever. According to the author, lightening has now struck this poor woman twice because some 15 or so years ago, her other husband died in a car accident. Aside from the result being that this woman is now single, I don’t see what the two situations have in common. In one, a good man dies early and unexpectedly, leaving a widow and a small baby. In the second, a douchebag walks out on his family. That’s not “lightening striking twice.”
Anyway, I’m now about a quarter of the way through the book (at least according to my trusty Kindle), and so far, all that’s happened is time has passed. It turns out that after something devastating happens, life continues. Bills need to be paid, dogs walked, kids fed, etc. The author makes sure we know that our character is still doing the basics, and we learn that she’s sad because the author says she’s sad, and because she’s losing weight. Oh, and the kids couldn’t care less that their dad walked out on them. They just go on with their lives as if nothing happened.
What I’ve seen from this story is a laundry list of events that occurred, and no acknowledgment of the way pain evolves as time moves on. The result is a one-dimensional character who’s difficult to care about. Rumor has it that some self-discovery is about to happen, but as yet, I’m unconvinced there’s a self to discover.
That’s where I stopped. I could read about this character with whom I feel no empathy; I could give up on the book that I paid a whopping $2.99 for because the reviews were so fabulous; or I could pour a glass of wine and read The New Yorker. I’ve been opting for the latter.
I guess only time will tell if curiosity will get the better of me, and I’ll go back to the story to see what the other reviewers loved so much about it, or if I’ll give up completely and start the next book. My time is precious to me. I must use it wisely!