Series are endlessly fascinating to me, and not, at the same time. Lately I’ve been trying to figure out why. I grew up reading series, Nancy Drew, Cherry Ames, Judy Bolton, Bobbsey Twins, Encyclopedia Brown. We’ve got all the Bernstein Bears and the Boxcars Children, but those were actually Bayley’s. Then as I got older, Lord of the Rings, The Gormenghast Trilogy, Foundation Trilogy, God is an Englishman, and more I probably can’t remember. I never read that North and South series, the civil war being one of my most unfavorite parts of history, well, that an the colonial period. I’ve read all ten of the 39 Clues, finished the Series of Unfortunate Events, and The Sisters Grimm. But I could not stay with Sammy Keyes, ye gods, there are eighteen of them, and never got to Cahills verses Vespers. I don’t think I read all of the Nancy Drew, et al at any time.
I’ll finish a trilogy. For me, it’s sort of like vacation. When we went to the Ukraine in 2006, we were gone for sixteen days. Around day ten I was ready to be home. So when we made our reservations for Hawaii this year, it is a two week vacation that lasts ten days. Perfect. Like a three book series.
I mean, I love getting to know a character and watching them through their adventures and life. But then I get bored. Sometimes I wonder if it’s because of the choices they make. Choices that I question. Not because I agree or disagree, but because sometimes they just seem so contrived. Sort of like, you’re in a old mansion, it’s dark, it’s near Halloween, there have been strange things happening in the neighborhood, dogs barking, cats missing, a weird green light in the house at odd hours. Do you go down into the basement because you just heard a noise coming up the stairs? Do you do this at twelve oh one? No. Everyone knows that’s not smart. But they do it in books. Why?
Once, just once, I’d like an honest character who runs away.