It’s not me, Don Quixote, it’s you.

I so rarely give up on a novel, that I can’t remember the last time I did, but the thought of getting through the second half of Don Quixote is so annoyingly gloomy, that I’m done. Out. Don Quixote, I am dumping you. Don’t turn around now, you’re not welcome anymore.

I like to think I have quite high tolerance levels for novels that drag, I made it through Clarissa and Tristram Shandy in one piece, and I also like to think I can handle infuriating characters, such Emma Bovary and Humbert Humbert, but as a novel, Don Quixote has both of these. I even got it on audiobook as I thought that would help me get through the rest, using my car commute, but all that’s done is give me a phobia of my car, because that’s where he is.

And let’s not forget, there’s animal cruelty, too, his poor aging horse and Sancho’s donkey are mercilessly stoned. People say it’s funny, that it’s a parody, but I’m not laughing.

Don Quixote is about a delusional man, traipsing around Spain with some very strange ideas, dragging his slightly-less deluded companion/carer/social worker Sancho Panza with him. And while Sancho is less of an idiot, he is there because he believes Don Quixote will shower him with riches and land for his service. And it’s like they say, you can’t con someone if they aren’t greedy, and Sancho is greedy, or he’d have gone home.

So, I shall edit the 100 Greatest Novels list to reflect that I have only read half of this book, and that’s all I ever will read, because I would rather run a marathon/do an Ironman triathlon/plan and attend multiple children’s birthday parties *shudder* than I would read the rest of this book.