Finishing a good book is bittersweet. I relish the sense of accomplishment, the satisfaction of completion. But to a certain extent it’s also the end of a relationship, the death of an acquaintance. Those characters will not be further developed, the plot will never again thicken, ideas are no longer new. I think that is why I left hundreds of books nearly, but not quite, finished when I was younger. I couldn’t stand the idea of it being over.