books I have DNFed
Jan. 9th, 2026 11:25 pmIt's been a minute!
The Starving Saints by Caitlin Starling. IDK how you make a book full of starving, soon-to-be-cannibal lesbian nuns beseiged in a castle anything less than completely my jam, but man, I just wasn't feelng it.
The Incandescent by Emily Tesh. The superintendent of a private school for magic... sorry, I got at least fifty pages in and I can't even tell you what the premise was.
Dead Mountain: The Untold True Story of the Dyatlov Pass Incident. I tried this book about the mysterious deaths of a bunch of Russian hikers during my mountaineering disasters phase, but I just couldn't get over this American doc producer rocking up to Russia without speaking a word of Russian OR knowing anything about mountain hiking and deciding he was going to solve this decades old mystery. Half the chapters were about him bumbling around Russia hoping people would take pity on him and tell him things while privately complaining that they didn't tell him fast enough. God give me the confidence of a mediocre white man.
The Dad Rock That Made Me a Woman by Niko Stratis. Trans woman narrates her gender journey through music. I'm interested in stories about rock music and people's relationship to it, but I struggled with Stratis's writing. I don't even know why.
Blacktop Wasteland by SA Cosby. A driver who's successfully escaped the life gets pulled in to do one last heist. I feel like this is the Cosby everyone recommends, but I couldn't get over how predictable the plot was. Maybe it had some surprises later, but I didn't get that far. Worse, I was supposed to be reading this with a friend and totally failed out, which I still feel guilty about!
Daughter of the Blood by Anne Bishop. Magic and gemstones and stuff, who can say. Guys, I'm sorry, I really wanted this to be trashy good fun, what I've osmosed about the series sounds so bonkers and great, but the writing was so bad. I couldn't do it.
Rotherweird by Andrew Caldecott. There's a town forbidden to learn history, and some new folks arrive. This sounds like the kind of bananas culty cloistered culture I'm into (eg Anathem), but in practice everything felt both artificial and not nearly weird enough. I felt like I was reading a toned-down Lemony Snicket novel for adults.
Strangers on a Train by Patricia Highsmith. Two men fall in together on a train, and one proposes they each perform a useful murder for the other. I loved The Price of Salt, but this is a meaner novel, about two characters hopelessly, miserably, self-indulgently mired in their own perspectives. I didn't like how one-sided the whole thing was, with the one guy basically blackmailing the other into doing a reciprocal murder, and somehow once he's done it, you're only drowning even more in his self-centered misery. The weird thing is I kept being reminded of The Secret History and the aftermath of its central murder, but somehow I loved that book and found this one continually repellent. I stopped sixty pages from the end, and I should have stopped way sooner.
Penhallow by Georgette Heyer. The terrible family patriarch is murdered, or so the back cover promised, but I was halfway into this 500+ page novel and he hadn't even died yet. I gather from discussions that this is more of a literary novel than a murder mystery as such and that it gets really dark. I was enjoying it okay when I was reading it, but I took a break for Yuletide, and a month later I just don't care to continue. I still want to try one of her frothier detective novels, though.
The Starving Saints by Caitlin Starling. IDK how you make a book full of starving, soon-to-be-cannibal lesbian nuns beseiged in a castle anything less than completely my jam, but man, I just wasn't feelng it.
The Incandescent by Emily Tesh. The superintendent of a private school for magic... sorry, I got at least fifty pages in and I can't even tell you what the premise was.
Dead Mountain: The Untold True Story of the Dyatlov Pass Incident. I tried this book about the mysterious deaths of a bunch of Russian hikers during my mountaineering disasters phase, but I just couldn't get over this American doc producer rocking up to Russia without speaking a word of Russian OR knowing anything about mountain hiking and deciding he was going to solve this decades old mystery. Half the chapters were about him bumbling around Russia hoping people would take pity on him and tell him things while privately complaining that they didn't tell him fast enough. God give me the confidence of a mediocre white man.
The Dad Rock That Made Me a Woman by Niko Stratis. Trans woman narrates her gender journey through music. I'm interested in stories about rock music and people's relationship to it, but I struggled with Stratis's writing. I don't even know why.
Blacktop Wasteland by SA Cosby. A driver who's successfully escaped the life gets pulled in to do one last heist. I feel like this is the Cosby everyone recommends, but I couldn't get over how predictable the plot was. Maybe it had some surprises later, but I didn't get that far. Worse, I was supposed to be reading this with a friend and totally failed out, which I still feel guilty about!
Daughter of the Blood by Anne Bishop. Magic and gemstones and stuff, who can say. Guys, I'm sorry, I really wanted this to be trashy good fun, what I've osmosed about the series sounds so bonkers and great, but the writing was so bad. I couldn't do it.
Rotherweird by Andrew Caldecott. There's a town forbidden to learn history, and some new folks arrive. This sounds like the kind of bananas culty cloistered culture I'm into (eg Anathem), but in practice everything felt both artificial and not nearly weird enough. I felt like I was reading a toned-down Lemony Snicket novel for adults.
Strangers on a Train by Patricia Highsmith. Two men fall in together on a train, and one proposes they each perform a useful murder for the other. I loved The Price of Salt, but this is a meaner novel, about two characters hopelessly, miserably, self-indulgently mired in their own perspectives. I didn't like how one-sided the whole thing was, with the one guy basically blackmailing the other into doing a reciprocal murder, and somehow once he's done it, you're only drowning even more in his self-centered misery. The weird thing is I kept being reminded of The Secret History and the aftermath of its central murder, but somehow I loved that book and found this one continually repellent. I stopped sixty pages from the end, and I should have stopped way sooner.
Penhallow by Georgette Heyer. The terrible family patriarch is murdered, or so the back cover promised, but I was halfway into this 500+ page novel and he hadn't even died yet. I gather from discussions that this is more of a literary novel than a murder mystery as such and that it gets really dark. I was enjoying it okay when I was reading it, but I took a break for Yuletide, and a month later I just don't care to continue. I still want to try one of her frothier detective novels, though.















