—5—
Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?
Beginning a new book is much like dating.
First, there’s trepidation. You ask yourself: What am I looking for in a book? What mood am I in? What are my friends reading? Work is picking up, do I really have the capacity to invest in the War and Peaces of this world, or should I be looking for something lighter, perhaps a little more Vinegar Girl?
Next comes the blinding hope. You’ve finally selected a book and you’re feeling pretty damn good about yourself. You’ve brewed a cup of tea, you’re sprawled out on your couch and the heater is on high. The book rests delicately on your lap and you’re alight with the possibility of it all. You dream about the rich dialogue and the entrancing characters (you’ll even love to hate the bad guys). You imagine being so enthralled by the twists and turns that you forget to eat that block of chocolate you really shouldn’t have bought. Facebook will suddenly become obsolete, you’ll consider selling your television and you won’t need to worry about going to the gym ever again because the emotional journey you’re about to embark on is the only exercise you’ll ever need. Just about anything could happen.
During the next stage, you find yourself being incredibly open-minded. You’re a few pages in and there’s no denying that the plot has captured your attention. You’re enjoying the fresh (yet understated) description of scenery, and you like the protagonist’s vibe. You think to yourself, Yeah, I could really like this book and Maybe excessive use of alliteration actually is my thing? So, you read on.
Ooh, did that character really just say that? You’ve reached a bit of a stalemate. Dialogue is getting a bit repetitive and the main character just refuses to get the job done! But you loved all of the author’s previous works and you really don’t mind the underscoring themes of the book. You’ve come this far. Maybe things will get better in a few chapters?
The aggravation juncture: NOT ANOTHER SPLIT INFINITIVE! GREAT, ANOTHER HALF-ARSED LOVE TRIANGLE! YOU CALL THAT A RED HERRING?! BITCH, PLEASE!
Then you hit the refusing-to-accept-reality phase. You really hate how the author keeps using the same adjectives over and over again, but you find yourself LOLing every time the sister enters stage left. Plus, you hate leaving your business unfinished. But then again, maybe James Joyce was right when he said something about life being too short to read a bad book. You persevere, sentence by sentence, chapter by chapter. Then you find yourself putting off reading. You start making excuses. You’ve managed to do all of the ironing (rustic creased is so in right now, yeah?) and your eyebrows have never been so sculpted. You might only be getting through a couple of pages at a time, but at least you can tell yourself that you’re giving it a good go.
It’ll change. Things will turn around. If you just overlook the fluffy, We’re Just Fucking Around To Up The Word Count And Increase Suspense chapters, it will actually be an interesting book. Maybe the author will consider feedback from Goodreads reviews and do a little nip-and-tuck on the extraneous plot lines in the sequel? Perhaps jazzing things up with a funky bookmark will improve things?
You’re at your wit’s end. You’ve tried. You’ve really given it your all, but you’re just not feeling a connection. It’s time to get real and work out how to end things.
Do you:
A. Let it peter out. Increase the burst between reading and slowly phase it out without anybody being any the wiser.
B. Start reading another book at the same time, because it’s not like you’re exclusive or anything.
C. Be more direct. (Note: a little white lie never hurt anybody.) Explain to the book that, ‘It’s not you, it’s me.’ You’ve really enjoyed your time together – wasn’t it so funny when the main character walked in on his parents having sex? – but you don’t think you really see it in ‘that way’. Things are pretty hectic at the moment between your colleagues having babies and that new side project you’re trying on for size. Would you mind if we left things for now? Can we just be friends?
D. Change your name, and your number, and get the hell out of town.
Until next time, my dears.
After all, tomorrow is another date.
Leave a comment (6)
Cat in the Hat > I love you.
No offence but … > Be honest and open, like the mature adults we are. A–D seem a little juvenile to me.
Stephen Prince > @Nooffencebut … You are the definition of a buzzkill.
No offence but … > @StephenPrince, you are the definition of a rude human being. Mind your own business.
Cat in the Hat > @StephenPrince & @Nooffencebut … loving your banter.
Love sick > Love your work, Scarlett O’! It’s like you’ve read my mind.