Abigail M. Schilling

I spent the majority of last week engrossed in a book in that way that people get sometimes that is truly annoying. Those people who read at red lights or when you're trying to talk to them or at work. I picked up the audio version (thank you, library!) for a long drive I had last weekend and at the end of the drive I hadn't finished the book--nine discs is a lot to get through. There are two issues I have with listening to an audio book and trying to lead my boring, every day life. 1) My drive time anywhere is less than twenty minutes. That is like four pages of audio book. 2) My car starts the track at the beginning if the car gets turned off. So, after I get twelve minutes worth of story, I then find myself waiting in parking lots for the track to finish so I don't lose my place.

I loved the book so much that I was enduring this time consuming routine until one of the CDs started to skip.

I got a little bit of rage, but had the foresight (hindsight? neither word really applicable to this situation?) to check my library for the actual book. Ahoy! (Ahoy not really applicable either?) The online catalog promised me they still had a copy in stock (but it was a seven-day loan so it must be popular) and I picked it up on Wednesday.

I finished it Saturday night, making my friends wait to go out while I sped through the last 25 pages.

I hated the last 25 pages.

There were so many wonderful things about the book. There were so many devourerable qualities. I loved the characters and the story telling and the meandering and the happy endings. Except, I should have known better. Happy endings don't occur with ten percent of the book remaining.

I should love the book still, I know. I should love the high road the author took. I should agree with all the critics. And yet, I didn't know any better when I picked up this book. I didn't know the author has been the reigning queen in this genre for years and years. I didn't know that had I know any of her other stories I could have predicted a sour ending.

I feel weird about the whole thing. I was planning on raving all about. I was planning on telling everyone I know to read it and read it right away. And now I feel betrayed by the book. I feel wishy washy.

I have returned the book and the audio version back to the library and am now reading The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants.