The City of "I've Lost all Patience and I Want to Throw This Book into a Fire to Die"

Someone once said that patience is a virtue. Well, sadly, I've stopped being a virtuous woman, especially when it comes to patience. When I first started reading City of Bones by Cassandra Clare, I was kind of bored. But I thought to myself, "Erika. If you want to be a good writer, you should read what other people write. You should be patient with them. You should listen to what they have to say." So, I decided to keep reading, especially since my best friend said that it would get better. Just so you know, you don't always have to agree with your best friends (sorry, Erin).

Well, fortunately, it did get better... 300 pages later. And I must say, it was about damn time. I thought that the sexiness of that scene on page 310 (or maybe it was 308), was well worth the wait. Think of a blonde-haired, 17 year old guy with an inherently defined six-pack, falling in love with a young, red-headed, naive, teenaged girl, who appears to be human. Think of them making out. In the dark. With no parental supervision. Did I mention that he is an angel, with a very, very, very bad attitude?

Not going to lie, I definitely found myself thinking of that car scene in Titanic. It was hot. I was finally hooked.

Then, out of nowhere, the author throws this huge, gigantic switcheroo on you, and you want to yell, and scream, and throw the book into a giant fire to burn in hell. You may also be throwing up in your mouth a little bit. That is exactly what City of Bones did for me.

And then it ended out of nowhere, and I needed, NEEDED to finish the series. In fact, I wasted over sixty bucks on these horrible, lying, nasty books. WASTED. Because Ms. Cassandra Clare, in my opinion, is a terrible writer. She doesn't know when to stop. She SHOULD have stopped with the third novel. But, no, she decided to continue on with a storyline that was so completely out of nowhere, that it didn't even feel like the same series anymore. I felt like I was reading Breaking Dawn all over again.

I lost all of my patience. This is mainly because I had never felt more tricked while reading a book, at least, not since the day I started reading Nabokov for my Fictions of Exile class. Cassandra Clare forced me to fall in love with her characters just so she could stress me out, and weigh me down with her words. And, I've decided that, at least for now, I will not continue to force myself to read something that I don't really want to read in the first place. It just doesn't make sense. I mean, you wouldn't ever lock yourself in a room full of water just to see how long it would take you to drown. You would never force yourself to smell dog poop. So, why in the hell would you ever force yourself to read something that will only make you angry? As a reader, you don't need to have patience. You just need a good book.