Where We Belong by Emily Giffin

As you may know, I have an unbreakable moral code which prevents me from abandoning a novel in favour of an alternative.  I've made my bed, I'll lie in it.   50 pages into this book, my code chaffing at my heels, I realise I have met my nemesis.  I cannot finish this book and look myself in a mirror.  I faced down the only remaining option -  I must give up reading altogether.   So be it.   I drafted a list of a few substitute hobbies, I investigated evening classes, I bought some knitting needles, contemplating a possible social event I even went so far as to have a conversation with a colleague.   But deep down I always knew that the cocktail of hatred, depression and cynicism which makes up my personality is not conducive to any activity involving other humans.   I picked up this book, took a deep breath and counselled myself – "they are merely words" – as I forced this down in instalments which I can only hope were not large enough to do permanent damage.   I survived this but the consequences are written all over my face and I urge you to back away, screaming.