A few weeks ago, that is. This is one of those books I heard about (through Sarah and Rebecca's blogs actually) and since I only WISH I was as literary as the two of them, I figured I should follow suit and read. Unfortunately, I read it slowly and sporadically over a month or so, interrupted by life, Babywise, and the Twilight series, and then lost interest about half-way through, confirming what I already knew about myself: I might just be the Nicholas Sparks, simple-sentence, linear-plot, sweet-story, happy-ending reader. And I'm pretty sure I'm OK with that. Nick's got a lot of nice things to say.
But the reason this is blog worthy? Well it's in the title.
No I don't feel any smarter. But proud that I finished a book that didn't MAKE me turn the pages instead of putting it out of sight where it can't inflict "are you ever going to finish me?" guilt. And I do feel like I need to branch out more often. This is why I need to join a book club to make me read books I might never pick. Because the thing is, I really did like it. Liked the ending and really glad I finished it. Perhaps I'll remember that the next time I read half a book... slowly....then retire it for some good old Bridget Jones or Jemima J.