Just finished reading it, and I am infuriatingly disappointed. I want to vent and rage and rant of all the things that came to a nothingburger, of an ending that was corny, insulting, and supremely unsatisfying. The length of the book of 500+ pages, reading all of it, and then being letdown has settled in my stomach this storm of frustration (nearing a stomachache even). I invested in the plot and the characters and I have come to hate all of them. It would have better if they had all died in the end — that would at least given me a sick satisfaction. I understand tragedies now. I got no catharsis out of it. I am destitute and filled with this inferno, and I am gonna feel like this all day today, and maybe, even tomorrow, and maybe even more days in the coming. I haven’t felt this way since I read that stupid worthless book The Witch of Portebello by Paulo Coecho or however his name name is spelled.I am just so frustrated. I feel this miasma of disgust and feverish heat in my body. I kept on reading and reading, hoping for all the things to unfold in satisfying ways — that all the things the author was stacking up would finally come to something wonderful, but it all fell down, and I wasted 15 hours of my life over the span of a week reading this just to get angry and sad at the end. People talk about investing time over a tv series and then it disappointing them, but there is no comparison to a 500+ page book doing that. I feel like an idiot for caring the characters about it. I love reading, but my goodness, I hate what books do this to you.Anyway, rant end. I suppose I just accept it and move on.
>>25219712Just how bad was the ending man? The only time I felt disappointed with an ending was with Anna Karenina, and even that could've ended on a satisfying note if not for part 8.
>>25219724It was a love story ending. The corniest kind. And the love story felt forced and artificial and an element that, in my opinion, should have been removed completely
>>25219724>The only time I felt disappointed with an ending was with Anna Karenina, and even that could've ended on a satisfying note if not for part 8.I wish for nobody to feel this way as I did. You feel powerless. You feel like a clown. And you feel like a retard for caring so much, for having cared so much. It’s like being betrayed. I heard nothing but good things about the book, so it feels doubly frustrating, cause there is this creeping thought in your brain that “maybe you didn’t get it”, or that “how in the world is it so.well loved”. You doubt your own judgement, your own feelings. You feel like crazy, and you hate yourself for feeling like this, letting the book drive you into a frenzy like this. You wish the book never existed, that the author never wrote it, that you never heard about it, never read it, maybe in a better world, you abandoned it in the first ten pages, and went and read something better. But you didn’t. You are here. The book is finished. And you got no satisfaction out it. You cannot even enumerate the number of ways the book disappointed you, and that frustrates you. If you start pointing them out, that frustrates you even more. All you can do is rant impotently like I am doing right now, and hope that you will forget it by tomorrow, and all the memories you have of it, is a vague dream that you remember not liking and that’s it.
