Sometimes, books just don’t deliver. You were caught by the author, the title, or perhaps the cover. But 40 pages in, you acknowledge the awkward truth – you and this book will not have an enduring relationship. So you end it precipitously, and without regret.
Peter Carey’s The Chemistry of Tears earns the dubious distinction of being the first book that I forsook in 2016. I made it a through a couple of chapters then realised, actually, I didn’t care what happened to anyone in the book. A fair enough reason to quit, I think.