Unfinished (Part 4)

For every ten books I enjoy, I find myself stumbling across a book I simply don't like or one I don't care to finish.  Some books, I initially loved; others, not so much.  Regardless, I must sadly admit defeat and say I didn't finish a single book I have listed here.

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Punk Planet Books

The Boy Detective Fails by Joe Meno was an interesting book.  I was initially intrigued by the  title and the cover, a gray cover with the white-and-blue image of a young boy (i.e. the boy detective) looking at what appears to be a severed arm.  It's a strikingly macabre illustration that made me first pick up the book; however, as I continued to read the novel, I was less enthusiastic.  While Joe Meno crafts an intriguing young adult novel about a boy still reeling from the loss of his sister to suicide, still struggling to find a new balance in his life and deal with his mental illness, I can't stay I stayed intrigued.

There's something about the tone of the novel that eventually put me off reading.  Part of it may have been the fact that Billy Argo, the Boy Detective, spent the majority of his adolescence in a mental institution, or the fact that Billy, once released, is dead set on finding out what happened to his sister, looking for killers who may or may not exist.  With facts like these, I couldn't help but predict one of two outcomes for the book:  one, Billy Argo is seriously deluded and ends up hurting and/or killing someone in the pursuit of "justice"; or, two, Billy Argo discovers his sister was murdered and then his world/case unravels.

I could have jumped the gun by predicting the outcome of the book.  I mean, I could be completely wrong about how The Boy Detective Fails ends; however, I wasn't ready to risk reading an entire book when my two options seemed so very unappealing.

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Broadway Books

I really enjoyed Erik Larson's Thunderstruck.  As a lover of books and a lover of history, Thunderstruck seemed to hit all the right notes with me.  It helped me learn about an obscure part of history I simply didn't know and it introduced me to a startling new world of science and engineering, telling me about Guglielmo Marconi and his startling new invention, the wireless telegraph.  I mean, I really enjoyed reading Larson's book.

But I couldn't finish it.

Don't ask me why, but I couldn't seem to commit myself to more than a handful of pages at a time.  I'd read five pages, then stop; I'd read another six pages, then stop myself again, and promptly find myself distracted by another book.  (Like The DUFF by Kody Keplinger, or The Martian by Andy Weir--which I highly recommend, by the way--or A Game of Thrones by George R.R. Martin.)  It was a frustrating cycle and, eventually, I just gave up.

I still intend to finish reading Thunderstruck.  I want to find out what happens with Marconi's machine, how a brutal murder in London is connected to the wireless telegraph--and how a mild-mannered physician became what he became.  One day, I'll have answers to these questions; one day, I'll finish reading Larson's book.

Today, however, just isn't that day.

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Hyperion

The Anatomy of Ghosts by Andrew Taylor was an interesting novel.  Part mystery, part drama, it combines vaguely supernatural elements with human desperation and tragedy.  It's a strangely compelling narrative.  I'd liken it to watching a train crash: you simply can't look away from the devastation.

I listened to it as an audiobook, listening to John Holdsworth's personal tragedies as his life and story begin to unravel, listening as Holdsworth investigates the haunting at Jerusalem College at Cambridge--and, admittedly, I was hooked for several hours.  However, I hit a point in the story when I simply didn't want to hear anymore.  Perhaps, it was the antics of the Holy Ghost Club; perhaps, it was the macabre images of ghosts and corpses; perhaps, it was Frank Overshaw's imprisonment in a mental institution.

Regardless of the cause, I found I couldn't bear to witness anymore and I had to put the story aside and move on to something happier.  Something with a little less gore, I thought.  Something that wouldn't make my stomach squirm quite so much.

As a sidenote, I'll point out that John Telfer was an extraordinary narrator.  I loved how he gave a different tone, different voice to each and every character.  I couldn't help but enjoy how he managed to give each character a uniquely distinguishable voice.  It was wonderful, and I'd love to find another story narrated by him.

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Bantam

Last, but not least, I must admit failure with one very special, very wonderful book:  A Game of Thrones by George R.R. Martin.

I absolutely loved reading George R.R. Martin's novel.  I loved the way the book felt:  heavy with stories, full of suspense, riddled with elements of fantasy--and don't forget the dragons.  But, for some reason, I just couldn't muddle through A Game of Thrones.  Like Thunderstruck by Erik Larson, I couldn't stay committed to just one book.

I became distracted by other books, by slimmer volumes that offered immediate gratification, by stories that weren't quite so...tragic.  It's a grim story, blood-soaked and twisted.  And after witnessing a number of harrowing misadventures and horrible deaths, I found myself less and less inclined to finish reading A Game of Thrones.

I suppose having the story ruined by the HBO show didn't help matters either.