Sometimes you just can’t finish a book!

I was and still am a huge Ray Bradbury fan, mesmerized and impressed by his poetic fiction, often stopping and re-reading several passages until his poetry sinks all the way in and I fully get it before moving on. I hadn’t read Something Wicked This Way Comes in probably twenty odd years, and this time around I was really enjoying it until I wasn’t! I just suddenly didn’t care what happened to the relationship between Jim and Will, two childhood best friends, and I sure as hell didn’t want to wade through any more of Ray’s deep, resonant passages to find out (yes, I had forgotten what happened in the book, so it was like reading it for the first time, until it wasn’t). Half way through, I only wanted story and I didn’t want to work hard to get it! Is SWTWC a great book! Darn tootin’ sonny Jim! But at sixty, I’m wondering if I’ve spent too many years looking back at my own childhood, searching for remnants of fire crackers, and double bubble wrappers, and old friends, and, now, finally, I’m sick of that part of my life? I really do believe there is a time and place in your life for certain books. Do you? Sorry Mr. Electrico, I hope I haven’t let you down!