I very occasionally find myself reading books that I just can't bring myself to finish. I was very surprised to find that this happened with The Life of Pi by Yann Martell which seemed to get good reviews and has been made into a movie and all. But last night I found myself reading and wondering why I was reading and realised I was waiting to find some reason for reading this book! Just like when one is walking and you head for a bend to see what is beyond and then you head for the next bend to see what is beyond and eventually you realise that you have to turn back. Except that walking is fun and this reading was . . . not fun.
Am I getting old and cranky?
I can imagine that this book could be turned into a feel-good movie, but the book itself just seems to be trying to outgross itself on every page.
Am I missing something subtle? Should I keep reading on the promise/premise that all will become clear?