I thought Dead Heat (the one with his son) was pretty good. Better than Under Orders (which is the one I think you’re talking about: the latest Sid Halley?)
Ulysses. I tried; I got two-thirds of the way through and couldn’t make myself read any further.
Dhalgren for me as well. I just couldn’t bring myself to care. It wasn’t even very hard to read, unlike the book that shall never be finished (by the author, that is), Stars in My Pocket Like Grains of Sand. Yes, it can stand alone, but without a sequel it’s just depressing.
I couldn’t finish Battlefield Earth because it just sucked so much. This is coming from someone who likes to read crappy books. For snarking purposes. Yeah. But Hubbard’s offering was just… egregiously horrible.
I haven’t finished The Time Traveler’s Wife, but that’s not because it sucks. It’s because I suck. At this point, it’s bee a couple years, and I’m just going to have to start from the beginning. I think I never finished it because I was reading it at a time when I really needed something light and happy in my life, and this story was kind of obviously foreshadowing unhappiness/tragedy.
I hope you will too. Once the narrator was able to remember his childhood during WWII again, I could barely put Loana down.
I love Jane Austen, but Emma was the first book of hers that I ever attempted and I didn’t get very far with it that time. I gave up after the first couple of chapters. Nothing was happening! But the film version with Gwyneth Paltrow came out right around that same time, and I decided to go see it. Once I knew that 1) things were eventually going to happen and 2) some of these things would be pretty amusing, I decided to give the book another shot. I got through it then pretty easily, and have re-read it many times over the past 12 years or so.
Having since read all of Austen’s other novels, I will say that Emma starts off more slowly than the others. I mean, none of them have really action-packed openings, but none of the others open with the heroine herself being bored either.
I love John Crowley, but I couldn’t make it through Little Big. A little too twee for me. I might give it another shot, it’s been 15 years.
A bit off-topic, but if anyone really wants to go through Ulysses, I’d recommend doing it with Don Gifford’s Ulysses Annotated. It really ehlps with facts and allusions without telling you how to think about the book as a whole.
Two of em come to mind…
Jane Eyre: I started this one and tried to double-dutch it with Crime and Punishment. That’s when I realized I cannot read two books at once. Tried again to read it, and just failed. I couldn’t get in to the story. This really surprised me to because that’s my favorite period of literature, I like the Brontes, but I just couldn’t do it.
**
Lord of the Rings**: I have a problem with fantasy novels. I have a terrible memory, and I can’t remember the weird-ass names! I tried to read this as the movie came out, and the only people I could remember were Frodo (main guy), Gandolf (Ian Mckellan), Bilbo (sounded like Frodo, same species), and Sam (normal name). Everyone else I just forgot who they were. So I gave up and decided that’s one series I will never be able to read.
Reality Dysfunction, Peter F. Hamilton. The first half was really good, and then it took this huge left turn and never recovered, apparently through two more books that I’ll never read.
Another down for fucking Ulysses. I got to page 400, put it down for the night, and never picked it up again. There comes a time when a girl realizes she just doesn’t want to wade through another few hundred pages of utter nonsense.
- A man in full *by Tom Wolfe. I was aware of him but had never read anything by him. I read a few book reviews that were practically masturbatory so I went down to the library and checked it out.
Wow, just wow. What a piece of crap, it’s rare that I read a book without caring about any of the characters but this book managed to do it. I quit with only about fifteen pages left because I really didn’t give a crap how it ended.
Tom Wolfe may be a fine writer but I’ll never find out because of this book. I also learned a lesson about how far I should trust book reviews.
Since I’ve mentioned several books I did finish even though I had trouble with them, I wanted to name one I didn’t finish. I was having a hard time thinking of one though, not because I’ve never done it but because I don’t particularly remember most books I abandoned before I got very far with them. But Sir T-Cups reminded me that there’s at least one quite famous book I started but couldn’t finish.
I like fantasy novels, but I didn’t get very far with The Fellowship of the Ring. Someone gave me a copy when I was 12 or 13. I read the prologue, then the beginning part about Bilbo’s birthday party up through the point where Frodo finally sets off on his journey. Then I decided I didn’t care what happened next and stopped. I can’t remember what happened to the book, but I think I lent it to someone else and didn’t get it back before my family moved away the following year. I never bothered to try again.
I can’t specifically remember now what I disliked about it, but I didn’t find it interesting at all. When I saw the Peter Jackson movie on DVD, I worked out that the part I read amounts to about the first half hour of the movie. I didn’t even get as far as the Ringwraiths.
Gerald’s Game - too creepy.
Desperation - too stupid.
Hazle, I’m curious how far you got into Gerald’s Game, because the kinky sex part of it really has nothing to do with the rest of the book. It’s probably my favorite novel by Stephen King, due to the incredible richness of the main character. Pretty much the whole story takes place inside of her mind.
I have a terrible, terrible habit of not finishing books. I’m not sure if the OP is looking for examples of books that were too awful to continue, too disturbing to continue, or just too long. I have tried to read several classic, great works of literature with no success. I honestly believe I have more unread books on my shelves than read ones. It’s not that I don’t enjoy them, it’s that I get easily distracted into starting something else. I have reading ADD or something.
Pretty much anything by Dickens–I love Dickens’ writing style, I just cannot for some reason finish anything he’s written. I’ve read about two thirds of* Oliver Twist*, half of Great Expectations and few chapters of A Tale of Two Cities. I don’t know what my problem is. I like his stuff. I just get impatient with the plot I guess.
Crime and Punishment. I love, love, love existentialist literature, I had already read Dostoevsky’s Notes From Underground with great enthusiasm, and there is nothing about his writing I don’t love. But Oh, Jesus, it’s so fucking depressing. You can only take so much of this bleakness. I think I made it about halfway through before I realized I’d much rather shoot myself in the face. I fully intend to finish this one, once I’m in an absolutely rock solid place mentally.
Also belonging on this list is practically every nonfiction book I’ve ever purchased.
Finally Heinlein’s Friday and * Starship Troopers*. I tried, I really tried, to love his work, but he bores the piss out of me and sometimes his stories read like outright parody. I’ll stick with Bradbury.
I can understand this. Way back when I first read it, I found FOTR to be a horrible slog for about the first 100 pages or so. Around the point where Frodo got to Bree, things started moving enough that the rest of the book, and the trilogy, was irresistible to me. But I can see that first part of book I being difficult to wade through, and I’ve talked to others who felt the same.
The first few times I tried to read Frankenstein, my eyes glazed over and I had to stop. It was only when I got a copy of the Berni Wrightson illustrated edition that I made it all the way through.
Another famous book I started but never finished was Lolita. I was 15 or 16 and was making a deliberate effort to read famous novels. I got up to the point where Humbert had Lolita sitting on his lap and decided that I was too creeped out to continue.
Facilitating this decision was the fact that I went to school on the other side of town and had a long commute on the city bus. This was when I did a lot of my reading, but as a young (and even younger looking) girl I was very uncomfortable with reading Lolita in public this way. I got enough attention from drunks, creeps, and lunatics on the bus as it was, and I felt like just holding this book was basically painting a big target on myself.
Same here. I can’t explain why the look and feel of a book makes such a difference, but sometimes it does.
Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrel. (Sp?) Boring, boring, boring, boring. So many people recommended it to me that I could hardly wait to dive in, I bought it in an airport book shop, paying the bloody earth for it, and by the time the plane was in the air I knew it was a mistake. I read it all the way from Newark, NJ to Calgary, AB, and dropped it on a bench between planes and I hope whoever found it enjoyed it. I like to think of the life that book might have had, as an object, because as a reading experience it really, really, really sucked.
There have been many others, over the years, since I gave up my once-ironclad rule wherein I required myself to finish any book I started. Life is too short.
Yep. My mother and one of my sisters will still finish everything they start. It’s crazy to act like it’s some moral issue to finish every page of a cheap romance novel or bad mystery, but they do it. I can see trying to finish a book if you genuinely think it’s going to get better, though.
“Wheel of Time” by Robert Jordan (?) - tried it twice. Couldn’t get into it.
“Anna Karenina” - classic, but I just can’t get through it. I can’t understand all the relationships between the people and it frustrates me. I’ll never know how it ends. (I even tried renting the movie once but couldn’t finish it either.)
After giving up on the “Anita Blake/Vampire Hunter” series because of Hamilton’s bizarre decision to write porn instead of interesting novels, I checked one of the latter ones out of the library recently. Can’t remember which one, but the cover was lovely. Anywho, about 3 pages in, Anita had already screwed two men, so I returned it to the library. It takes real talent to transform sex into something repititious and boring.
Off the top of my head, three books I haven’t been able to finish have already been mentioned: Confederacy of Dunces (twice), Infinite Jest, and Emma.
One Christmas my ex gave me Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell in hardback. I was too intimidated to even open it. It’s still on the bookshelf, taunting me.