Book Without End

Lately, I've been reading Ken Follett's "World Without End." When I say "lately," I mean that I started the book in January. It's 1014 pages long and I'm reading at a slow pace - less than 10 pages/day right before I go to sleep. This is my normal pace with fiction, although I usually hit a point about 3/4 of the way through a book where I can't stop reading, so I push on through to the end, often staying up way past my bedtime. I'm on page 777 and still haven't hit that point with this book. I've taken to calling the book, "Book Without End."

I'm pretty disappointed by this turn of events. I was really looking forward to reading the book. I'd read "Pillars of the Earth" years ago and enjoyed it. At least I think I enjoyed it. I don't remember many of the details of the story - something about building a cathedral in Middle Ages England. Anyway, I had high hopes for the sequal.

Unfortunately, it hasn't lived up to my hopes. I knew I was in trouble when I started not caring about any of the characters after about 200 pages. There are a lot of characters and you'd think that I could find some reason to care about at least one of them. Nope. Don't care. They all seem so formulaic - the "good" characters do "bad" things but their "bad" deeds don't hold a candle to the "BAD" things that the "BAD" characters do.

For example, one guy's a raping, murdering, dog-killing monster who is completely devoid of any redeeming qualities and everyone knows it, but yet, no one rams him through with a sword. Meanwhile, the monster's brother is continuing a long-time love affair with his childhood sweetheart who is now (inconveniently) a nun. Not just any nun, she's the Head Nun. It's the only way that she, as a woman living in the Middle Ages, can use her natural intellect. She has an answer for everything. Economic crisis? She dyes wool and the crisis is solved. Plague? She wears a linen mask and survives. I think I'm supposed to feel sympathy for her situation, but I don't. I think she's a know-it-all smartass.

But, I have carried on. I have dutifully lugged this brick back and forth during my weekly commute to the Big City, substantially adding to the weight of my suitcase. I have endured the weight of this tome on my stomach as I've read chapter after dull chapter. I toted it back and forth to doctor's appointments, car maintenance appointments, and other "waiting" occasions. Despite my best efforts, I'm now on page 777 and I still don't care about any of these people. I actually want bad things to happen to the good characters just to make things interesting. Even the arrival of the plague didn't make any difference because the same dull characters survived.

So, it is with great relief that I am giving myself permission to stop reading this book. I'm open to book suggestions. For fiction, I like a book with substance but isn't gut-wrenching (no Jodi Picoult, please). And, I'd like a book that doesn't weigh 50 pounds. Something interesting with interesting characters. Something that will hold my interest but yet still allow me to fall asleep. Let the suggesting begin . . .

In the meantime, I'm turning my attention to Drew Gilpin Faust's "Republic of Suffering" about death and dying during the Civil War. Uplifting? No. Interesting? Absolutely.