So I'm sitting here a little perplexed, having, over the past few days, read the first two books in the Vampire Academy series by Richelle Mead. I hadn't particularly meant to pick up the first book but, as it went, I was in some kind-of vampire kick and on the look out for another vampire book after The Coldest Girl in Coldtown by Holly Black. Vampire Academy happened to conveniently be on my shelf.
As I was reading it, I didn't find myself to be particularly enjoying it. The main character felt a little selfish and full of herself to me and these types of characters are not usually ones I get along with and ones I find deject from the storyline. But, at the same time, I was still turning the pages of the book and not thinking to put it down. There was still something compelling me to keep reading. (getit, compelling me? ;p don't say you didn't smile)
Anyway, once I finished, I mentally placed it in the slightly-more-enjoyable-than-okay category and got ready to move on. But a few hours later, I decided I liked it more than I initially thought. Granted, I'd watched the film straight after reading the last page which, admittedly, could have spurred my love for the book, in itself, and the premise of the series but... There just seemed to be something telling me that this wasn't the kind of book I should of nit-picked. And once I decided that, I really wanted to continue on with the series.
I promptly bought and downloaded book two, Frostbite, on to my Kindle app and surprise, surprise, really quite enjoyed it. More so than the first book. Maybe because of the fact I stopped critiquing and gave the storyline a proper chance to draw me in.
It did. And now I want to continue on with the series.
I just find it so strange how, initially, I thought I didn't particularly like the book that much yet, only a few hours later, came to realise I enjoyed it more than I thought. Enough to continue on with the series anyway. And it's happened before with other books. I'll initially think that book was okay but then, at some later point, realise I enjoyed it more than my brain let on.
It's so bewildering. Like, how did this happen? Did I fall in love with the idea of the book but not actually the reading experience? Or did I actually deep down enjoy it but not let myself admit it at the time? Like, ahhhh. I'm sorry if this post is confusing. I've just got some very confused feels right now toward this series and wondering what the heck goes on up in my brain.
Does anything like this happen to you?