Today is 07-07-07. I didn’t notice it until I was writing a check to my babysitter early this evening. Too late in the day to take advantage of the extreme luck-i-tude of the date, but I thought maybe it was worth mentioning. I don’t feel like it was a particularly lucky day for me, but hey — I wasn’t in Vegas. Apparently zillions of people got married in Vegas today. So I’m glad I wasn’t in Vegas.
I did, however, do something today that I rarely do. I abandoned a book. I am a bit of a completist, usually, in these matters. If I start reading a novel, I stick with it until I finish it. If it’s not a good book, I might grumble the whole time I’m reading it. (“Can you believe the audacity of this author — wasting my time so?!”) I suppose it makes me not so much fun to be around. But I think there’s a value in finishing what you start, even if it takes a long time. I don’t leave shows at intermission. I still watch “Desperate Housewives” even though it jumped the shark two seasons ago. (And, oy, “The L Word.”) And I finish books.
With that lofty paragraph preceding this one, I’ll now tell you that after 162 pages and a cursory glance through the reader reviews on amazon.com, I am abandoning the John Irving novel Until I Find You. I read the whole first section (122 pages) even though I was bored out of my gourd, and I kept thinking it had to get better. Forty pages into the second section and I thought maybe I’d take a look at what other people had to say, just in case it didn’t get better. Apparently it doesn’t get better.
I’m the mother of an almost-two year old, and if I find 30 minutes a day to read, it’s stolen from something else I’m supposed to be doing. At that rate, I’m looking at weeks and weeks of this, and honestly, life’s too short. My apologies to Mister Irving. I really am a huge fan of other novels of yours. I read A Prayer For Owen Meany in about three days because I just couldn’t put it down.
Alas. Jose Saramago awaits.