For a period of time a few years ago, I got myself into the disconcerting habit of picking up a book and starting to read it...only to abandon the project after just a few chapters. There are books by Patricia Cornwell, Dean Koontz, Tad Williams, Sue Grafton, Suzanne Collins, James Grisham, Philip K. Dick, J.K. Rowling (with a non-Potter novel), Victor Hugo, James Joyce, and even my favorite writer Stephen King, among others, that have experienced this humiliating fate of me not reading them all the way through (fortunately, some of the authors are no longer around to have suffered through such disgrace). In the past year, I have gone a long way in finishing what I had started (and left) before: recently, for example, I finished Terry Goodkind's monstrously huge eleven-volume The Sword of Truth series...after initially quitting only halfway through the first book. There's another fantasy series (a four-"parter") that I actually was determined enough to get all the way to halfway through the third book: the Inheritance series by Christopher Paolini. I walked away from it because I became frustrated with the preponderance of passages loaded with mental introspection, to the detriment of dialogue and action. I still stand by that criticism, but now I feel that I should have stuck it out to the possibly bitter end. Well, now I've picked this series back up and will go on that reading "quest" with stalwart perseverance...in the spirit of its fantasy nature... to whatever end it takes me.
That having been said, I don't think it would be a good idea, after a few years' hiatus, to pick up where I left off. Instead, I'm going back to the very beginning, with volume #1, titled Eragon. I'm about a third of the way through it, and it strangely seems this time around to be better written (although, if memory serves me, the bogging down of the narrative didn't become overwhelming until the third book). Also, it's almost like a reunion of sorts with old friends that I haven't seen in years...