I’ve had a frustrating summer, when it comes to reading. I usually consider it one of the great joys of this time of year to sit in a cool and shady spot, reading a book that I’ve chosen for pure entertainment. But for whatever reason, I haven’t gotten much traction over the past few months.

Just this week, I decided to return the history I’d checked out from the library, written by Gary L. Roberts and titled Doc Holliday: The Life and Legend. I first got it when our family was preparing for our trip to Wild West Texas, figuring that it would be fun to read about a famous figure from the period of history when American settlers (and prospectors and thieves and con men) were pushing into the southwest. John Henry “Doc” Holliday spent some time in West Texas before he found notoriety in Tombstone, Arizona. So his biography seemed as good as any. Except it just wasn’t. I don’t doubt the researching skills of the author, but his writing skills left something to be desired. The book was as dry as the Chihuahuan Desert. And after multiple rounds of automatic renewals from the library, I decided to call it quits at page 185 of 414. I don’t like to quit at much of anything, especially after getting almost halfway through. But I figured it was time to cut my losses and move on.

I’ve gotten about ten percent of the way through a book called The Year of Less, by Cait Flanders, and I think that might be about as far as I take it (though I appreciated the premise of a self-imposed challenge on a person’s consumeristic tendencies).

I’ve gotten 82 percent of the way through a book called Fuzz, by Mary Roach. And I think that I will eventually finish that one, though the library required its return at the end of my lending period, presumably because someone else wanted to read it. Still, it was slow-going, and I mostly want to finish it just to break the string of bad luck in book selection.

I’ve nibbled at a book from our own bookshelves called At Ease: Stories I Tell to Friends, by Dwight D. Eisenhower. But the fact that it resides in my house actually makes it strangely less likely to have any urgency in getting through it. Maybe I’ll get hungry to have some more nibbles later on, but probably not this summer.

I’ve brushed up on some Greek Mythology, from an anthology edited by Robert Graves and titled The Greek Myths, after seeing this summer’s blockbuster The Odyssey. But it’s really not the kind of book to read from cover to cover. At least not in this summer of my reading discontent.

There are still two books that I’m working through — and hopefully still likely to finish at some point. But I won’t include them on this list of fizzles, failures, and frustrations lest I jinx them. I guess some stretches of life are just like that. Uninspiring. Out of sync. Weird. So I’ll just bury the dead and look for something lively on the road in front of me. If you’ve got any good recommendations for me, I’d be glad to hear them.