As I had hoped, I burned through Book of a Thousand Days. The funniest thing was that my hormones got in full swing at the ending, helped by some disturbingly well-suited music on Pandora (Howard Shore, if you care to know). Yeah, I cried at the end. Most of the end, in fact. Not just the happy ending that you know has to make an appearance, I started getting all weepy at the bad guy confrontation and went on and off from there.
That was such a great experience that I wanted to leave the books alone for a bit. We also had company coming. But I went ahead and nibbled into the beginning of Jingo because why not. Then company came and I didn’t get back to my list again until this morning.
Ugh. I picked such a bad book to get into.
Why did I check this book out? I didn’t even read the summary, I just went, “Okay click”. FOR TWO BOOKS. Which one am I talking about? Three guess will probably have anyone arrive at The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty.
Curse my stupid rules. I should have returned this book as soon as I realised that it was just lame Anne Rice porn. Zero merit. Oh, I suffered through it, and it was ironically torturous. Nothing even happened, it was just a bunch of really tasteless fetishising and violence. I think I lost a significant amount of brain cells. But I did say I’d finish the books I started.
HOWEVER. I can suffer through one brain-killing book. I do not have to continue with book effing two. So after I finished that crap, I returned both books and picked up Wicked Lovely (Melissa Marr) to fill in the blank spot. The total remains fifteen books.
Finished so far:
And now I’m going back to Jingo. Jingo would never hurt me.