The Deerslayer has been lying on my side table for three weeks, constantly in the periphery of my vision with its giant, green presence. I feel guilty. 200 pages in, and I have lost the will to continue. Of course, my inability to not finish a project means that I have refused to begin any other books. And so I’ve spent my fatigued evenings sloughing around the apartment, vacillating from tv to netflix to early bedtimes.
But tonight is the night. Deerslayer, I will conquer you. I will not just finish reading your pages but I will find something good in you. I will read a sentence that doesn’t cause me to roll my eyes, cringe, or nod off.
How is it that I can spend three hours engrossed in a Jane Austen spin off movie in which Elizabeth escapes to the modern day world, Darcy proposes to Miss Bingley, Lydia runs off with Bingley, Wickham is noble, Georgiana is a schmuck, and Jane ends up married to Mr. Collins… and yet I can’t refrain from scoffing at one single page of The Deerslayer?
Well, perhaps that is just enough of a testimony to how mind-numbingly unrealistic and laughable The Deerslayer is.
But, this evening, I resign myself.