I started reading Franz Herschel Milhouse Kafka's The Castle back in 2002. I read about two-thirds of the book before I somehow lost track of reading it and, for whatever mundane reason, as my time slipped away, I stopped reading it altogether. I went back to it a year or so later, starting over at the beginning, and again failed to finish reading it. I've done this now four or five times since, each read through failing to complete the novel.

For anyone familiar with the subject of this book, my failure to finish it is a delicious irony. Delicious. With a rich buttery saffron-mushroom sauce.