The title of this post might be a touch misleading (or at least over dramatic), since I wouldn't say I've fallen entirely out of love with the series that inspired this post, but it's definitely a feeling I have experienced in full. Eeven if it's something we in the bookish blogosphere don't talk about much, since we tend to be of the obsessive OMG <3 4EVA bent (which is the happy neighborhood I usually reside in these days).
But it's pretty natural for your feelings to shift over time, as we grow older/wiser/crankier/pick one. Like I hated ketchup when I was little and now I recognize it as one of the Holy Condiments of Our Era. Or I used to think Edward Cullen was the single most romantic figure ever created by literature, and now, well, I get that maybe breaking into a girl's room to watch her sleep is slightly creepy, no matter how much he sparkles.
So why do I always feel such GUILT when I fall out of love with a series? Why is it so terribly sad? I feel like I've lost something, somehow. I MOURN FOR THE LOVEY DAYS OF YORE.
Okay, so the reason for this post is because of...Throne of Glass. Now, it's not entirely accurate, because I still do love this series. I think Heir of Fire is basically one of the best books I've ever read in my life, and I'm still invested, and, well, I was on the blog tour for Empire of Storms. I have made and continue to sell ToG fan art. I'm not off this train by any means.
Which is TOTALLY FINE. (It's fine. Don't yell at me.) But gah, I don't know why it's so hard to reconcile my changing feelings for a favorite series! I didn't mourn when I fell out of love with Eragon, which I was balls to the walls obsessed with as a teen. I went on a trip with one of my friends in eighth grade and carted that giant blue book around with me (it was a reread) and accidentally outed myself as a gigantic nerd, because dragons weren't cool back then, kiddies, but I was a dedicated Eragoner. I read book 1, book 2, book 3...and then somehow, by the time book 4 came around, I was like meh. Shrug. I'm good with stopping here.
It's so weird that that happens.
And then there are series that will always be my uber faves, like the Seven Realms series by Cinda Williams Chima, but I am going to go on pretending VERY AGGRESSIVELY that the spinoff series, started with Flamecaster, does not exist. Seriously, it's not a real book. Don't tell me it is. I've never heard of it. So, like, my dedication to the original series is DEEP but there are borders it will not cross and that border is the opening chapters of Flamecaster. And then there's The Mortal Instruments. I binge read the first three books back in 2011, before I became a blogger, in a haze of obsession, and then somehow...found no need to read further.
(I know a lot of people feel this way about the ever-expanding Harry Potter universe, but I super duper do not, because HP is damn near holy to me, and I saw Cursed Child on the stage and one day I'll vomit out a post about how fucking fan-diddly-tastic it was but today is not that day)
I tend to be very loyal to series. I also have a completist nature, so most of the time I finish the ones I've started (at least, if I've gotten two books or more in). But sometimes, you just fall out of love. The luster comes off the shiny premise, or the characters develop in ways you don't like, or you just plain old develop different tastes. You used to like angst, now you don't. You used to like paranormal, now you don't. You used to like happy endings, and now your soul is dead. Whichever. Pick one.
Have you ever fallen out of love with a series? Let me know I'm not alone!