Once upon a time I had a terrible curse placed on me (probably by tabloid dirt troll or a vapid magazine fairy, or the lingering ghosts of a hundred Gothic authors): I could not stop reading a terrible book until I had finished every last rotten word.

It didn’t matter how boring, dull, sloppily written, plot bereft or ridiculous – I had to drag my unwilling eyeballs through every page. Even now I’m unsure what was driving my determination to leave no page unturned. Aside from maybe a badly-worded blessing from a distracted fairy book-mother “May you-“ she no doubt meant to say never, got distracted by the nearby shiny thing or bookshelf “-have awful books to read”. Possible reasons lurking included a fear of disappointing the author, somehow, of not wanting to be a quitter, or being overly optimistic that the book would eventually get better.

Ugh, so much reading time wasted! Now I give a book some leeway (generally two chapters) but if I’m thinking more about another book, or remembering I should clean my oven, the book is toast. Not literally, but there have been books that have made it on to my “Books Okay to Burn” list. Or books I’ve thrown across the room in frustration. It’s not easy, being a reader.

My most recent “Did Not Finish” book was Matthew Quick’s latest, The Good Luck of Right Now. Premise sounded great, and I’ve loved every single one of his other books I’ve read (Sorta Like A Rock Star, Boy 21 and Forgive Me, Leonard Peacock) previously. I recently found out he wrote The Silver Linings Playbook, but I already knew the guy knows how to tackle a story to the ground and make it squeal, sing and sob, all in the one page. But his latest book wasn’t for me. I gave it a couple of chapters, but in the end thanked it for its time and went on to the next book waiting for my attention. No harm, no foul to anyone. I have every intention of reading his next book, and will no doubt reread Sorta and Forgive Me repeatedly. But I won’t be finishing Good Luck, and that’s okay.

I believe one of the beauties of a book is that it is not for everyone. Some books have enormous numbers of people singing, screaming and arguing its praises – and some people cannot see what the fuss is about. I think that’s beautiful. Because there is a book for everyone, for you – whether you’ve found it yet or not – that will change you, leave its words printed on your heart or mind, become part of who you are in ways you can’t imagine or put limits on.

And reading books that make you yawn is a painful delay on the way to that something beautiful being held in your hands, and happening.

Do you have to finish books you start? What’s the last book you didn’t finish, and why? Do you read an author’s entire catalogue? How much opportunity do you give a book before ditching it? Why do you always/never finish a boring, bad, or simply not-for-you book?