With only 32 pages left of the formal story in this my latest read I just cannot get myself rid of the very definite feeling that the main characters will die, whatever my personal preferences. As a consequence, because I cannot just put the book away, not after reading 418 pages filled with trials and gore, I now read in 2-page spurts.
This is not the first time this happens, and I wonder – am I such a sucker for happy endings? Am I better suited for bubblegum reads, were everyone ends up living happily ever after? I am determined that the answer is NO, so I slog on, reading in micro-instalments. Because the book, this far, has been very much worth the effort even if I still have no idea what to say when I’m asked what’s it all about, and I’m determined that there will be a good reason for the protagonist and his sidekick(s) to die, for the story to actually have some kind of meaning. In The End.
Whatever that may be.
But – isn’t it ironic that me, who definitely don’t believe in there being any meaning with life except the survival of the species (so better make the time worth it!), can’t stand a book without a message or idea?