There are some books that grab you and won’t let you go. Ones that you’re dying to get to night after night, the ones that your kids beg you to keep reading. This one started out that way. It’s an interesting premise: a book of “nonsense” that a couple of twins — Daphna and Dexter — discover is actually a key to an ancient language of magic. There’s an evil, twisted villain, who’s hypnotized the twins’ dad, and is trying to kidnap Dapha so she’ll work for him. There’s Emmett, a creepy red-eyed bully. And, at the beginning, it’s all very exciting and interesting.
Yes, our circumstances didn’t lend for reading every day: we were often sick or busy. But days would go by and C wasn’t asking me to read. And the times when she did, and we couldn’t, she wasn’t horribly disappointed. And I wasn’t terribly thrilled while reading it, either. The chapters were long, and we could never remember what had just happened from one to the next. So, we’re abandoning it, and moving on to something else. Sure, we take the chance that we’re leaving just at the best part, that something spectacular will happen to make the book absolutely fabulous, and we’d be hooked and can’t wait for the sequel.
The problem is: neither one of us is terribly interested in finding out whether or not that’s true.