There was a time when if I opened a book, I finished it. No matter what. Even if I hated it. Even if I resented it. Even if I fantasized about gently placing it in the freezer.

Yes. That sounds ridiculous.

Probably a leftover habit from reading required books in school, where “DNF” was not an option and SparkNotes did not count as literary engagement.

Fortunately, I have reformed.

I was briefly part of a Facebook book group for women of a certain vintage (read: my age). One woman posted something like:
“I’m on chapter 15 of such-and-such. How much longer before it gets good?”

Chapter fifteen.

Friend… why are we negotiating with a book?

If you’re not enjoying it in the first few pages — let alone the first few chapters — close it. Set it free. Move on.

There. Are. So. Many. Books.

I work part-time at our small-town library. We don’t have the budget of a big city system, and yet the number of new books that arrive each month is staggering. Truly. They just keep coming.

I look at the stacks and think: I will never read all of you.

And that’s okay.

Now I browse with freedom. I look at the cover. I read the blurb. If something sparks, I take it home. If it doesn’t? Back it goes.

I can rule out whole categories at the moment — though that’s always subject to change. I love fantasy, but I’m taking a break. I rarely read horror or westerns. I don’t generally reach for historical romance (or much romance at all). And I’m steering clear of hard-core murder mysteries. The world is ugly enough right now. My heart needs a softer place to land.

Last month, I stumbled onto a few delightful surprises. This month? A couple of flops.

Daisy Jones & the Six by Taylor Jenkins Reid. I was genuinely excited about this one. I have a bit of a hit-or-miss relationship with Taylor Jenkins Reid. When she works for me, she really works. So, I went in hopeful.

But the interview-style format just didn’t land. I never sank into the story. I never forgot I was reading. Instead of disappearing into the world, I felt like I was flipping through transcripts.

I gave it a couple of chapters. I tried. I wanted to like it. But sometimes it’s just a nope.

The Kamogawa Food Detectives by Hisashi Kashiwai
What You Are Looking For Is in the Library by Michiko Aoyama

While I’m waiting (impatiently) for the next Inspector Gamache to make its way to our library, I decided to branch out.

Both of these sounded charming. Short. Cozy. Gentle stories. And — very importantly — cats on the covers.

Cats trump all.

But… neither one hooked me.

Part of it may be the translation. The sentences felt slightly awkward, just enough to keep me aware of the writing instead of the story. And I never quite sensed that anyone needed to change. Without that pull, that something-at-stake, the events felt pleasant but weightless.

I kept waiting to care more. I didn’t.

So, two more nopes.

And back to waiting for Inspector Gamache.

There are too many good books in the world to spend time with the wrong ones. Onward to the next.