I have a confession.
I will never finish Atlas Shrugged.
The bookworm in me is ashamed. But it’s time the truth came out.
I don’t NOT finish a book. I am compelled to keep reading until the end even if I’m groaning and swearing at the pages.
I read The Fountainhead two years ago and loved it. It took me seven months to finish but by god I knocked that sucker out. Since then I’ve worked my way through all of Ayn Rand’s novels and I love them all. But Atlas is a bitch. It’s longer than a Harry Potter and moves so slowly! Which is ironic considering it’s a novel whose plot centers around inventing and patenting high speed rail.
Atlas sits under my bedside table, covered in dust and judging me. It doesn’t care about my love for Margaret Atwood or memoirs about people living in the Middle East. It only cares that it bested me.
Shut up, book! You are inanimate!