Stephenie Meyer

Sometimes, I abandon books right in the middle. I just lose interest. My mood changes. I’m indecisive what I actually want to read. I’m too annoyed or appalled to continue. I want to read a new release I’ve been waiting for. Or I don’t have any reason whatsoever …

When I was younger, my grandpa read lots and lots of books to me: Erich Kästner, Otfried Preußler, Wilhelm Busch, Janosch, Paul Maar (basically all German children’s classics except for Michael Ende – I’ve never read a single one of his books), and Astrid Lindgren. Although there’s one or two I’d enjoy reading again, I’ve forgotten all about them. Seriously, I just had to consult Goodreads to come up with a list of children’s books that were read to me. I’m sure I loved them all very much – after all, they made me fall in love with the written word, – but they just don’t feel like “my” books, because I never read them myself …

I’ve probably forgotten countless characters I love and would love reading more about, but here are a couple of favourites I do remember …

Da fallen mir ganz spontan vier Reihen ein: eine war einfach nur schlecht, zwei eigentlich schon abgeschlossen, und bei der letzten gab es mehr als genug Gründe, aufzuhören …

From stunning and heartbreakingly good to disappointing and outraging: here are my top three best and worst series enders each …

I tried to like it. I really did, but The Host also failed to win me over on my second attempt to finish this book. The idea itself had the potential of becoming a gripping, fast-paced sci-fi action thriller, but the execution emphasised all the wrong aspects turning it into an often boring and lengthy tale that focuses on a questionable love triangle propped by flat characters and a story that sometimes seems to move rather backwards instead of getting anywhere at all. The ending could have saved the novel by breaking through my wall of indifference – if the novel had actually ended there.