What do you do when you want to love a book but you just...don't? I started getting uncomfortable a little ways into this one particular novel. It wasn't bad by any means. It was just...flat. It was just...disappointing. I just expected so much more.
But maybe that was the problem - me and my expectations. Were they too high? Were they unreasonable? Was I wrong to wish for a repeat of that previously wonderful reading experience? I don't know. I don't think so. I had even played the devil's advocate and told myself not to get too excited in case it wasn't as good as the previous book. But I was still ready to like it. I was still prepared to love it. So what does it mean then if after all my wanting to like/love it, I still didn't? Whose fault is it? The writer? The reader? Some combination of the two?
Like I said, I didn't hate it. I didn't want to throw it across the room. It wasn't badly written. It was just "eh." I'll still read more of this author's work. But I'll be more wary, both of the book and of my own expectations.