Jackaby by William Ritter

A book breakup

(Or reasons not to finish this book)

Is it goodbye or until next time?

There is a melancholy hidden in the act of buying books. Among the excitement, the fear of what if. Beautiful books with great premises and yet you wonder, will it be worth your money and time? Just because it looks like it might be good? Even though you know you don't really read such genres. You still want to give them a try. You try to get through them, hoping they will turn out good. You turn page by page, take it chapter by chapter. Hoping the next one will be better. And before you know it, a month has gone by an no book have been read. And you realize, it's time to sadly say goodbye.

Sorry Jackaby, I tried. I will not be ashamed of not getting through with you. You were not for me. Perhaps a 10 year old will love you more. I sadly say no, and decide to close you for good. After reaching the middle and feeling bored with Abigail's constant feminism remarks. After waiting to see more Jackaby, and though I know, or hope, there is more Jackaby further on, I just could not wait any longer.

Perhaps if there would have been more depth to Abigail than just a rebel feminist looking for adventure. Though I highly identified with her, this was not the reason I chose the novel. When my reason to read those not match the text, I just can't enjoy the words any more than I can enjoy a home made pie after six slices of pizza. I am not claiming you as bad, as you are not. You are beautifully written, simple enough for a child to love, for a girl in search of independence and adventure to identify with. But you were just not what I wanted you to be. I guess we were not a good match. We were not made for each other.

In my shelve awaited lonely books which I waited for months to receive. And as I waited for them, they wait for me. To be read, to be loved and folded and ruined because I decide I need to take them in my bag in other to read them at any chance I get. You see Jackaby? This is what we did not have, this connection. Perhaps you would have been better if you, Jackaby, was the one narrating your story. Perhaps if it began with 'bang' and not with a quiet mystery. Or if you, Jackaby, showed more signs of genius and not weirdness. Perhaps I expected you to be someone you are not. Sorry Jackaby, I promise I will turn you in to someone who will love you more (if I don't decide on giving you a second chance.)

With sad regards,

she writes