To read or not to read?

I have an unhealthy obsession with William Shakespeare.

I admitted to this fact years ago, and have tried to find a 12-step program but, alas, none exist for girls who fall in love with dead white guys. If there were, I’d also have to go in for a literary love affair with John Keats. But, that’s another story for another time.

As part of my love for Shakespeare, I read biography after biography of him. I read criticism and theory. I read the plays and sonnets.

Right now, I’m reading a biography which I picked up at a Renaissance fair several years ago. I’m barely 30 pages in, and am having an incredibly difficult time staying engaged enough to pick the thing up each time. It jumps around, there’s nothing compelling about the story the author is telling.

It’s just dull.

It’s almost as if I were reading a biography of my own life which, I can assure you, would be the single-most dull book ever published.

So, the question of the day is: Do I read this book or do I put it aside for something more interesting?

I hate not finishing books. It drives me crazy. I feel that, no matter how horrid the experience is for me, someone worked very hard to write that book, and it’s my duty as a reader to finish it. I feel the same way about the articles I write for my job.

But, at the same time, life’s far too short to spend weeks languishing on one book when there are hundreds of others calling to me.

I’ll give it another try. If it doesn’t go any faster after a while, I’ll put it on the shelf in hopes that I find it interesting enough to pick up later.