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Lately I have a lot less patience for books that don’t grab me.
Normally I give a story a solid chance to build, to draw me in gradually, but for the last couple of years I stop some after just a couple of chapters, and sometimes after just reading a page or two and thinking, “Meh.”
Partly this may have to do with my job as an editor—a risk of my trade is that it’s hard for me to turn off the analytical side of my brain with story and just lose myself in it. And lately, with so much of what I see happening around me in the world, I’m a little crankier and less forbearing than normal.
I’m also less inclined to worry about “sunk costs”—not long ago I stopped reading a well-reviewed “literary” novel well over halfway through, because although it started gangbusters, after a while I realized I was having to make myself read it every night rather than looking forward to it. I zealously guard my evening reading time—it’s only half an hour or so usually, and it’s the only time of day I dedicate to pleasure reading.
(Dearest authors and clients: Please never interpret that statement as meaning I don’t derive great pleasure from your stories. I agree to work on a manuscript only if I fall at least a little bit in love with it. But reading as an editor is very different from simple leisure reading—it’s focused, demanding, and analytical.)
There is great value for authors in analyzing stories you didn’t like to see how the author failed to hold your attention.
It’s tempting, with a DNF (“did not finish”), to simply close the book and move along to the next one in your TBR (“to be read”) pile. (Or, if it’s especially egregious, to throw it across the room in frustrated irritation, as I literally did once with a great big bestseller that I did in fact grudge-finish to see what all the hype was about, and then deeply resented the hours of my life forever lost to it, especially given the many excellent stories I see that struggle to pop above the noise in the market, or even get published at all.)
If you’re a regular reader or have sat in on any of my classes, you already know that I proselytize the unmatchable value of analyzing other people’s stories to enhance your writing, editing, and understanding of storycraft. That’s where you have built-in objectivity that we all lack in our own stories, and you can learn an editorial approach of dissecting a story’s component parts based on what you’re actually seeing on the page, and follow your own reactions to it back to how the author succeeded in engaging you, investing you, and carrying you through the story.
But there is equal value—perhaps sometimes more—in analyzing stories you didn’t like to see how the author failed to hold your attention.
How to Analyze Stories You Don’t Like
At first glance it might sound mean-spirited (but fun…?) to tear apart a story you hated or that left you cold.
But I’m not talking about heckling it Mystery Science Theater 3000–style, gleefully delineating how the story is wrongly or poorly told or written. I mean analyzing your reactions and what caused them to determine whether the story is effective and impactful to you and exactly why or why not.
These are subjective judgments, and they should be. This is a subjective business and there is no objective right or wrong way to write your story. There’s just the way that you find compelling.
If you’re figuring that out by analyzing what has been traditionally published or reasonably successful, then you are giving yourself the advantage of knowing there is at least some market for the type of story you like, or it never would have found its way into print or readers’ hands in the first place. You’re learning what kind of stories you might want to tell, your own style—and what makes a story hit home for you, feel satisfying and engaging.
Analyzing story simply means learning to clearly define what works and doesn’t work for you in story; pinpoint specifically why; and identify on the page how the author did or didn’t create certain reactions in you as a reader. Here’s the approach:
- Notice your reaction (what)
- Define specifically what’s causing it (why)
- Analyze precisely what in the narrative created that effect, or failed to (how)
Read more: “How to Read Like an Editor”
Let’s look at some examples from my own DNFs.
Stories That Bugged Me—and Why
I’m not going to name titles in these analyses—I’m not interested in holding any authors up to public censure, especially when fiction is so subjective. (And I certainly don’t leave bad reviews.) And many of these titles were big sellers, so clearly my opinions are not always in the majority.
But that’s what we’re learning to understand and curate: not what makes fiction good or worthy or effective. Just what makes it good, worthy, and effective to you.
Most recently, I stopped reading a New York Times bestseller with a deliciously intriguing premise at around the 50 percent mark. Despite the book’s success and fairly good reviews, the story started to feel episodic and static to me, a series of loose character sketches with minimal forward movement. Even halfway through I didn’t feel invested in any of the characters and couldn’t see the connective tissue among them that made the story feel cohesive, and I did something unusual for me: skipped to the end to see if it all finally came together. It did, but in a way that felt so obvious and unimaginative to me that I was especially glad I hadn’t spent more time trying to plow through it.
Analyzing story doesn’t mean deciding what makes fiction good or worthy or effective. Just what makes it good, worthy, and effective to you.
If I were doing the fuller analysis I’m recommending here (step three, the “how”), I’d have gone back into the manuscript to pick out exactly what created those impressions—what on the page specifically failed to engage me; where I wanted to know more, go deeper, get a fuller sense of the characters and their relationships; where I lost sight of a cohesive narrative throughline; the concrete reasons I didn’t feel deeply invested in the characters or what was happening to them.
But from my initial analysis I can already identify some key things that make story compelling to me (step two: the “why”): well-developed characters I relate to, in relationships that feel resonant to me and directly relevant to the action of the story, with a strong propulsive interconnected throughline.
A few years ago I was excited to read another story with a fantastic premise that grabbed me right away, but about a third of the way in the story felt slow and I just couldn’t invest in the protagonist, who seemed fairly irredeemable. But I’ve read a similar story, also a bestseller (I won’t name it, since the plot would give away the one I’m referring to that I didn’t like), with a similarly morally ambiguous protagonist, and yet I loved that one and often use it in my teaching.
Analyzing the difference is instructive to see what makes story hook me and what fails to engage me. For instance, the one I liked had a clearer narrative throughline and stronger story momentum carrying me through. While the main character was similarly problematic and “gray,” I found her struggles with her own actions and her attempts to justify them to herself more compelling and relatable, and her reasons and motivations for her actions felt more fully developed and nuanced.
Notice how those things are consistent with my takeaways about the first title I mentioned as far as what makes story resonant for me: strong, keenly developed characters I invest in whose struggles and actions drive a propulsive and cohesive narrative.
More DNF Analyses
- Another bestseller with nearly 100K Amazon reviews, most 4- and 5-star, put me off very early in the story when the protagonist came out of the gate evincing dramatic bouts of emotion about her situation, all in heavy-handed “tell” that left me feeling completely removed from and exasperated with its histrionic heroine. I finished, hoping to overcome my initial impressions, but at the end was so annoyed and put off by the story’s and character’s self-indulgence that this was the one I threw across the room. (I get as frustrated as anyone else with published or praised books that feel mediocre or worse to me, when I am constantly seeing what I deem stronger stories struggle to find a publishing home or wide audience.)
Takeaway: Especially for big emotions, I find it more affecting and engaging to have deeper insight into a character’s inner life and internal reactions than just seeing the external result of those feelings.
- Without realizing it until afterward, I coincidentally read two bestsellers by the same author, both of which I found equally unengaging to me for the same reason: They both got too lost in description and scene setting at the expense of story and character development.
Takeaway: That’s consistent with what I’ve already identified about my preferences for story: strong engaging characters who directly propel compelling action.
- I’ve eagerly awaited the newest releases of two authors whose past books I’d loved, only to give up on both in boredom and frustration when they adhered to trite plots and tropes and leaned much too heavily on their past work, breaking no new ground so that each one felt like a tired retread of what I’d loved so much before.
Takeaway: From these I learned how authors must walk a delicate line: Offering to returning readers and fans the same experience and “feel” of stories that bring them back to an author again and again, while continuing to surprise and delight them with something fresh. (Man, every time you think you have a handle on just how hard this craft is, you learn new facets of its complexity that could make less passionate and determined writers throw up their hands and give up.)
- I’ve stepped away from critically acclaimed “literary” hits because, as I rather saltily put it, they crawl so far up their own butthole that it feels like an exercise in the author admiring their own prose and prowess, rather than drawing me in as a reader and carrying me on a journey. Clearly I’m in a minority, at least among book critics, who were in raptures over many of these stories. But notice the common thread: I want strong characters driving propulsive story.
It’s tempting to dismiss our DNFs, or think of them as “wasted” reading time—but figuring out exactly why we didn’t engage with them can be as informative and educational for our knowledge of craft as analyzing the stories we do love.
I write about developing this skill a lot–with books, movies, TV shows, even articles and commercials and songs. I think learning this kind of analysis is the most foundational skill an author can develop. Getting into the habit of parsing what worked and what didn’t for you and why is the best way I know of to learn and deeply internalize craft skills.
Okay, authors, let’s have a little fun practicing. Without naming titles or authors, tell me some of your most egregious DNFs, and specifically what made you fail to engage in the story.
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28 Comments. Leave new
I so relate to this post. The last book I forced myself to finish was a Pultizer prize winner. I kept telling myself there had to be something there that would all come together and wow me at the end. It didn’t! Like you it made me SO mad, I decided I would never again force myself to finish something just because other people thought it was good. Last year I read another Pulitizer that was decent (defintely a story that needed to be told) but not fantastic. The author actively mislead the reader in order to achieve an “aha” moment near the end of the book, which infuriated me.
One of the dilemmas I see is that once people “in the know” start saying something is great or really good, lots of people jump on the bandwagon so as to not seem foolish. I also think (particularly with films) that there is so much money being thrown around, I don’t know how much I trust the people “in the know.” Maybe I’m getting jaded but I feel like lots of people are getting paid to have a particular opinion.
Those especially frustrate me because I worry there must be something I’m missing. But I go back to, It’s not whether the book is good or effective–it’s whether it is to me, at least for my own style and preferences, which is how we learn what works for our own stories.
I’m getting more and more leery of reviews, sadly, because of the reason you say–about “tastemaker” influence–and also because of AI bots, or corporate interests even. (There’s a certain recently released and widely panned documentary, for instance, that has a 99 percent positive rating on a site that’s owned by the company that made the film–for an astonishing amount of money that some are suggesting has an ulterior purpose. Suspect motives for the positive reviews, for me.) Thanks for sharing your perspective!
As I get older, I am more apt to stop reading a book I don’t engage with. Early on, I was rigid and had to finish, no matter what. Then my daughter taught me a rule/formula she learned in grade school, you have to read 100 pages minus your age. I started using that and found freedom in it. If a book wasn’t for me, I had given it a try. I had followed the rules. It also gives you more freedom as you get older. Having that pass-key gave me the liberty to read a book and to stop reading a book. Now I don’t need to count. I put aside that formula about 10 years ago. If I am engaged in a book, I’ll finish. I do give each book the time they deserve. Recently, I stopped reading a best-selling book, one of the big four book club’s pick. I had high hopes. It was comped to one of my all time favorite books, with a flawed protagonist who couldn’t get out of her own way. But this book, I couldn’t connect with the protagonist. Her quirks were quirky, but didn’t feel organic to me. I lost myself in trying to find redeeming qualities in other pieces of the book, but it wasn’t working for me. So, I stopped reading. I read 60 books last year (completed), but there were also four or five that I DNF. They just weren’t for me. The 60 books that I read weren’t all 100% satisfying, they weren’t all five star books. But a lot were four stars and they engaged me enough with the developed characters, with the plot, with the depth, to keep reading.
Ha–I left that part out, but yes–my reading tolerance for books that don’t grab me has definitely decreased as I’ve gotten older. Like I’m more protective of my time. 🙂 I love your daughter’s formula as a guide–or permission, I guess, really. I know that initially I felt almost duty-bound to finish a book I’d started, and I had to learn to allow myself to put it down.
The big four book clubs so often will turn my head with a recommendation, but many of the DNFs I mention here were in fact their picks. So yeah, I’m taking those with a grain of salt.
I also like your point about four-star reads. I deplore the idea that seems to have taken hold among authors that anything less than five-star is negative. I get the fact that it’s important to keep the average high for the Dreaded Algorithms, but some of my favorite reads were solid four-stars, and I can even perfectly well enjoy a good three. The scale I learned in school for the ratings was that three = good, four = very good, and five = excellent. I’m pretty parsimonious with my “excellent” ratings–otherwise the standard is meaningless, right? Much of what we like tends to be really good, and the “excellents” are the rare standouts.
Thanks for sharing this!
Great post! My DNF was by the British “greatest contemporary writer of classic crime.” It opens with a girl kidnapped and murdered by a serial killer. A couple of chapters later the serial killer dies in an auto wreck, and that plot line ends with a resounding thud. Another body is found, and since the serial killer is dead some other killer must be discovered. I ploughed through hundreds of pages of mind-numbing descriptions of every stick of furniture in every room every character enters, while the iconic detective (“A blank blank mystery”) doesn’t appear until three-fourths of the way through. Then he does nothing but enter rooms because he’s on holiday. I couldn’t bear to hang on for the exciting conclusion, if there was one. But it gets worse. Because of the author’s reputation, I had already bought ten of their other novels! Not bright, I admit. Now and then I torture myself by seeing how far I can get in my latest DNF before adding it to the pile of used clothing and old shoes to donate to my local charity. I hope that a less picky reader may enjoy them. Or use them to wrap fish.
Oh, I bet I can guess. 😉
Tastes vary–and they can also evolve as society changes. A lot of what might have made for a successful story fifty or a hundred years ago–or even less–won’t grab modern audiences. I applaud your determined repeated attempts to give the other books a chance…but lesson learned, as you say, about diving in whole-hog and buying the full-course meal before you’ve tasted the first dish. 😉 Thanks for sharing your perspective, Bill.
Last book I read that I really wanted to not finish but forced myself to was one that got raves. But the MC was unlikable, never really changed except for one burst at the end, then she lost everything she wanted anyway and ended up alone. Not satisfying at all.
Those annoy me most, I think–I’m so mad I spent so much time and put faith in a story finding its feet when it doesn’t, when there are so many books I’m eager to get to in my TBR pile! 😀
Too many to count, but there was a Pulitzer winner that deserved to be published, but not prized. It was cleverly-written, athough the ending appeared to be tacked on, and it gave a bad name to political correctness.
p.s. I know what the ending was because I looked ahead to see if it had redeemed itself.
I always wonder at the standards and judges for awards like that. That’s subjective too, of course, and I wonder whether sometimes there are considerations outside of strictly the (relative, subjective, of course) merits of the story itself.
And sadly, sometimes the award winners (not necessary the Pulitzer, but others) are the ones where I get most lost in the author’s butthole. 😉
I’m going to mention a nonfiction book I recently read for my book club. It’s been very popular, sold well, highly reviewed, etc. I kept trying to hang in, but then decided, it wasn’t worth my time. It felt too surface-y for me. Both in the personal story and the reporting. I like depth. I did appreciate another reader’s comment in my book club: That yes, while it lacked the depth element, it did reach a lot of readers with a story/information they wouldn’t have encountered otherwise. She was thinking of the scope of the book in the world; I was noting my own experience as a reader.
I’m wondering if it’s one that I’m resisting on principle because of its massive popularity, seemingly simplistic message, and complicated history…! I’ll walk away from nf as fast as fiction these days. I tend to read a lot of both, and AIN’T NOBODY GOT TIME FOR BORING BOOKS. 🙂 Interesting observation about why you didn’t care for it, despite its popularity and potential strengths. Thanks for sharing, Bettina.
As a reader and someone trying to write a cozy mystery, reading this supports my thoughts. I think some books become best sellers because the author is a celebrity or has written other good books, not because that book is great. They have several five star reviews before they are even released. It’s frustrating!
It’s nice to read that other people have DNF books and that not every book is worth finishing.
My husband and I were recently listening to a mystery and we gave up. The main character, a woman in her mid-60’s gave a bad impression of women over 60! There were random lines about her sex life or using a vibrator which did nothing for the story. Some decisions she made could only be called stupid. We stopped listening although I did find out the ending online. Even the ending wasn’t satisfying.
Agreed about mixed motives–I never know how much of a book’s reviews–especially advance ones–are genuine. Even with author blurbs–I know from being in the industry that there’s a certain amount of back-scratching involved in those. Did the author really love this book, or is it marketing? ¯\_ (ツ)_/¯ Thanks for weighing in, GJ.
As usual, your post today was right on target, Tiffany. Thank you so much for letting me peak behind the editorial curtain. The biggest problem I have as a reader or writer is that I don’t feel like I am in sync with the rest of (literary) society. But I still have stories I can’t wait to tell. As a result, I despise literary agents and many of the classics that have endured for over a hundred years.
My DNFs tend to be boring craft-oriented retellings of hackneyed stories which fill the shelves of Barnes & Noble, all praised by the literary in-crowd. These stories spend hundreds of pages on descriptions of irrelevant characters and venues, are annoyingly devoid of any intriguing action or unique plot and tend to be either politically correct or have a political agenda.
What is especially annoying is that, as a result of the in-crowd gatekeepers, many wonderful stories and authors are buried in the literary bone pile debris. That fact is evidenced by the amazing authors who, profoundly frustrated, self-publish and become million book best sellers. Then the agents come crawling back begging to represent them! I think that is why, to find books that don’t wind up on my DNF shelf, I have to rely on friends who think like me and enjoy the things I enjoy. Word of mouth, in my opinion, is the best way to avoid DNFs.
Word of mouth is among my favorite ways to discover good reads–most of all people I know and whose tastes I know are similar to what I look for in good story. That’s not always a sure thing either (I have one friend where we finally realized that while we have much in common, our preferences in story ain’t one of them), it can sure help point you toward things you specifically might be more inclined to enjoy, rather than general reviews where you don’t know the predilections, standards, or biases of the people who may be offering them. Thanks for the kind word, Jeff.
Over the past few years, when a book failed to grab me or just plain pissed me off, I got into the habit of checking the reviews. And lo, among the four and five stare were always a handful that echoed my feelings, often down to specifics. It has been so very instructive. It happened recently with a big time blockbuster by a big time author. Thank you for talking about this today. And I love “so far up their own butthole.”
🙂 Crass, but accurately reflects my feelings about those…
With a wide spread of reviews most of us can probably find the ones we agree with, I’m guessing–it just depends on the personalities and preferences of the people writing them and how closely they might match our own. I’m always amazed by cascades of rave reviews for books I really, really didn’t enjoy–but it takes all walks, right? Thank goodness tastes vary; there’s a reader for every story. 🙂 Thanks for the comment, Susan.
This is about a film, not a book, but the same applies. Expecting to be pleasantly surprised by a genre I otherwise had no interest in (vampires), I recently sat down to see why The Movie That Shall Not Be Named has earned the most Oscar nods of all time. After forty minutes, I realized they’d told me the same exact opening story over and over again, in the exact same way — man seeks posse, recruits reluctant old acquaintance using threats or guilt, moves on to the next one, repeat. As I recall, that is the same general beginning as Ocean’s Eleven, and now I’m sort of dying to go back and see why that movie engages us so well using the same setup. I’m guessing the promise of “fun will ensue” rather than “vampires a-coming” has a lot to do with it, but there must be more.
I use a similar issue in a movie I sometimes cite in presentations about forward momentum–same dynamic over and over in scenes so the story felt repetitive and static. I contrast it with Pretty Woman, which uses a single dynamic–Richard Gere’s workaholism–but shows how it evolves as his character and the relationship do. Same idea, totally different use/effectiveness, as you point out. At least for me–it’s subjective (although Pretty Woman is a classic, and the other one was a blip, so make of that what you will. 😀 )
That analysis you mention is where the power of DNFs is–not just what you didn’t like, but why and how exactly on the page the author failed to adequately engage you. Learning story that way makes it part of you, wired in so that when you’re writing you don’t have to consciously think of craft techniques; you intuitively understand them. Thanks for the great example, Claudia!
Like you, given the state of the world, I find myself with much less patience for things that don’t bring me joy or keep me engaged. I liked this author so I decided to go back to her first published book. She had a back and forth between developing a love story and how things were after the love interest died. Everytime I settled into a feeling she switched and I felt emotional whiplash. I annoyed at myself for forcing myself to finish. Sometimes I think it’s my frame of mind that colors my reading or viewing .
Oh, Ines, I wholly agree with state of mind impacting how we feel about something–I’m often surprised to see how much it affects my response to a story. That actually should be some comfort to authors–it underscores how subjective this business is, even sometimes form day to day.
I think I get especially frustrated with books by authors whose work I’ve loved before, when it fails to grab me. It always makes me wonder what alchemy was different on the books that grabbed me versus those that didn’t. Thanks for your thoughts!
Some of us in the Writer Unboxed community have started using Ray’s Flog a Pro idea to read first pages, compare and contrast two book openings. During our zoom call, we mentioned two Booker prize winners with episodic events rather than plot, no story question or mystery to speak of, little dialogue, almost no character development or arc, and then the stories end. One was fabulous, one was a total bore. How the latter won a Booker became the discussion. My tentative conclusion is that it broke every “rule” of writing, which made it experimental literature. That doesn’t mean I want to read another book about a protagonist with no agency, no insight, no growth, and no connection to his own life.
Hi, Deborah! Ray’s column is such excellent practice for beginning to analyze what works and what doesn’t, and why. You may be right about the experimental facet being something that garnered the book attention. I can’t pretend to know what the criteria are for these awards, but I do know they’re judged by individuals, whose tastes are as subjective and varied as anyone else’s. (I always think of the board of judges in American Fiction arguing about the merits of the books under consideration–wonderful fil, especially for writers, if you haven’t seen it yet). You have me curious about which books you read! 🙂
Great post. I always suspected it was true, but it’s nice to hear (read) that DNFing doesn’t necessarily make you a bad person.
1. The voice! If I don’t feel in the first couple of pages that I want to spend the next sixty to eighty thousand words with this narrator, I’m outta’ there. I used to give them even less space, but I learned that they deserve more by picking up the book a second time (everybody else or someone I respected found it worthwhile) and finding that it got better.
2. The direction the story seems to be headed (Can anything good happen? If this is goin’ where it seems to be goin’, do I really want to put myself through that?)
3. If the prose feels forced, ‘purple’, or clumsy, I close the book and put it back.
4. The acid test: Do I think I’m going to be glad that I read this?”
“DNFing” sounds bad, though, doesn’t it? 😉
YES YES YES on voice! That may be the thing that grabs me most of all too, or at least quickest. (Or puts me off just as fast…) Yes, too, on subject matter/vibe. Especially lately, I find I have a bit less tolerance for really dark stories. And of course if I don’t feel early in that I’m in sure, confident, skillful authorial hands, yep, I tend to check out as well.
The good news is my DNFs are in the minority for me still. But it does feel freeing not to feel chained to finishing something just because I “committed” to it. Life’s too short. 🙂 Thanks for sharing your thoughts, Bob.
Tiff you’ve got so feisty lately. It suits you. I love the ‘grudge-finish’, but I prefer your hack – skip to the end 🙂