When doing academic reading, you sometimes run into the equivalent of a slow moving recreational vehicle on a winding, mountainous, two-lane road. The thing has such bulk and you cannot hope to push it forward, and yet it would be perilous to circumvent entirely. As such, you get stuck behind it. I carried around Keohane’s Neorealism and its Critics for more than six months, in three countries, before finally deciding that my studies could proceed without actually reading the conclusion in anything but the most cursory of ways. A few bits of thesis reading have been similar, though I am not going to name names.