The One Where I admit my shameful literary secret.

Ok. So. Here's the thing.

I want to like it. I do. I was so excited when I bought it, caressing it's new pages on the drive home, imagining myself lost in this new world. I imagined that I'd fall in love with it, and count it among my top 5 books. After all - She did. And, as you know, I just heart her. And someone else did too, but for the life of me now, I can't work out who it was.

But it was one of those books I'd never read. Don't know why, it just hadn't really jumped out and grabbed me the way a good book does. But I'm determined this year to read all of the classics that I haven't read. Well, not all of them, I guess. But quite a few.

Certainly, I'd like to read the books out of the Top 100 that I've not read yet. And she seemed a good enough place to start. So on my last trip to my idea of heaven (Sigh. Just need to stop a moment and reminisce....) I reached out and took her right from the shelf. (It was a toss up, Jenn, between that and Tennyson. I think I made a mistake).

Got her home, and made myself finish my other book first. Didn't want to rush ahead. Savour her. Savour the anticipation. She'd be worth the wait, of course. How could she not? I was falling in love with just the thought of discovering a new kindred spirit. I knew we'd be immediate friends, soulmates. I knew she'd become a comfort to me. Not, perhaps, quite like Elizabeth or Anne. But that isn't her fault. She wasn't swooped up and devoured by 10 year old Melissa. Nothing could ever be that perfect again, could it?

And finally, finally I was ready. I made a cup of tea (becuase, between you and I, a good book simply must be begun with a lovely cup of tea. I can drink coffee the rest of the time, but the beginning simply must have tea), and settled down to read.





Then it happened. I've been too scared to tell you about it. But it's been 3 weeks now. And I don't know how to say it. But it happened.

Or should I say, it didn't happen. The problem is that nothing happened. At all. I've restarted this book 3 times now. I can't seem to get on. I was primed to fall in love people. But we don't seem to have any chemistry.

How can this be? How could we not be right for each other? I wanted to be in love? I wanted to be excited. But..I'm struggling to pick it up again. I find myself wanting it to just be done already so I can settle in and read my next book.

What to do? Do I keep going? Should I persist? Will it be worth it? Tell me it'll be worth it. Maybe I should step away, read something that's simply *fun* and come back to her later?


Tell me what books you've read that you feel like you *should* like, and simply didn't?


Think she'll still want to be my friend? ;)