Why is it that, even when I’ve realized that the book I’ve started reading isn’t the text I actually need to be reading — either it doesn’t do the thing I thought it did, or it occurs to me that my attention would be more fruitfully placed elsewhere — I nonetheless feel the need to finish the thing before moving on to another book?

One thought on “Completism

  1. My mom once read 800 pages of The Brothers Karamazov, decided she didn’t like it, and quit about 50 shy of finishing. Take inspiration from that.

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