After I finish a book, I almost always spend a few hours mourning the fact that it's done. I rush to the end, impatient to find out what has happened, and then when I get there I wish that I'd slowed down, savored it a bit more. It doesn't keep me from slowing down the next time, of course, but I wish it nevertheless. Sometimes it lasts a few minutes, sometimes hours, and rarely, it goes on for days. I call it my book lump. When no book seems to satisfy, and all I can do is grumble about having finished what before I was so eager to get through.
The longer books lumps don't happen often, and thank goodness, because they always leave me a little grumpy. And there is absolutely no rhyme or reason to what kind of book puts me out of reading commission for a more extended period. The Help did it. Emily of New Moon and the two sequels did it as well. But so did the Hunger Games. And now Major Pettigrew has me lumping. It's not that I don't have enough books to choose from. I have books. Many, many books. Books I really want to read. Just not right now. Because they aren't the right book.
I think the problem is that I try to find similar books when I'm done. I get on Amazon and see what pops up in the "Others who bought this looked at" lists and I try one of those. Inevitably that fails and I mope around for a few days until I can get over it and move onto something new. I finished Major Pettigrew on Saturday morning and spent the rest of a long, chilly, perfect for staying in and reading kind of weekend trying out, and discarding, three different books from the library and four more that I have waiting on my shelves. All failed. At least I had my knitting to keep me busy.
Do you get the book lumps? Read anything fabulous lately that might snap me out of it? I finally latched onto Bossypants late last night and I think it might just hold. It's about as opposite as you can get from Major Pettigrew which might just be the ticket. We shall see I suppose.