We need to talk. You know, things started out great. You were so fascinating, with the whole Jane Austen-style language and social context, but with magic as a major aspect of the story. I couldn't put you down! Things were so new, so different than anything I had read before that I couldn't believe how lucky I was to find you. There was so much chemistry between us, with my great love of Jane Austen's books and of the fantasy genre, and you with your beautifully formed language and exciting story. It was such a wonderful time. I was so glad Galen Beckett wrote you so that we crossed paths.
Then things started to get confusing. I thought I knew you, but the characters started to behave in ways that I completely didn't understand. You tried to convince me of one character's love for another, but I couldn't buy it. My trust in you was flailing. It really was the beginning of the end there. After that, I was just going through the motions. Frankly, I just wanted our relationship to end. You weren't the book I fell in love with. It was drudgery to make it through to the end. Then, when I realized that you were just the beginning of a series, I got angry. Where was my closure? You denied me the chance to see it through to the end and wash my hands of your story. Now I will forever remember you as the book that gave me such hope, only to snatch it away and taunt me with it's confusing and frustrating ending that wasn't really an ending.
I want to say that it's not you, it's me, but really, it's you. It's over. I'm just not that into you.