One day as I was browsing the bookstore on my Kindle, I noticed a recommendation for a book that was getting stellar reviews. As I read the summary for The Goldfinch, it seemed vague but I was willing to take the risk. Everyone was raving about the book and even other authors said that they wished they had wrote it. Here is where I’ll admit my mistake: I didn’t check the page numbers. I’m not the type of reader who cares about how many pages there are; if a book is well written, I will finish it in about a week, if not less than that. However, you know what you’re getting into when you pick up a book like Gone With the Wind or Les Misérables, which both clock in at over 900 pages.
No one warned me when I bought The Goldfinch that it has 775 pages! The number of pages shouldn’t deter me but with a vague description, I had little knowledge of where this book is going. In fact, I’m only at page 467 and I still have no idea where the story is going. This should excite me and when I’m constantly reading the book, it does. When I step away for a few days, I stare at my Kindle, wishfully hoping that I was done with it already and had moved on. I know once I finish it, I’ll be glad that I was able to push myself through it. For right now, I’m suffering through the remaining 305 pages.