I need to finally sit down and finish Umberto Eco's The Name of the Rose. I first read (but never finished) the book in 1999. I brought it with me to the beaches of Koh Samui straight after graduation, but the leisure beach-bum life got in the way.
The only Umberto Eco I actually finished reading was Foucault's Pendulum. It helped that I was reading it when I was supposed to be working on my thesis: William Gibson and the Cybergothic.
The dilemma: work on thesis or read Eco's meandering book.
I chose the latter, but it still a long time. I would read a few pages, then set it down (bookmark in place). After some time (maybe a few months later), I would pick it up again, and continue. That took two years.
Ms F asked if I enjoyed it. I replied 'no'.
"That's so sad!" she blurted.
"No," I insisted. "In between I did other things."
Remember: reading is as healthy an interest as sports - but you're supposed to have a life.