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Short story: I loved a book so much that I've never finished it.
I've no recollection of a series that meets this criteria. I'm not a fan of serialised work. I'll try the first few novels, then usually, I'll lose interest, and move to something else. Or be disappointed by the ending of the series, when I do finish it. But I've a few cases of novels that do meet it. The list is very small, experiences derived from it, caused a stern determination to never expand it. I really enjoyed reading War and Peace, and for some reason I made a break of a full year, while reading it. I just paused for a full year. It was a hard stop, as I didn't read anything else at that time, I just spent that time watching movies and playing video games during my free time. Then I picked it up again, and went through it as if nothing happened. Even more drastic case happened when I returned to Flaubert. I hated reading him for a school assignment, but I went and reread Madame Bovary at a later time, and I enjoyed it immensely, so I dived deeper into him, and loved everything that I read from him. And then I went for Salammbo. I immediately knew it was a work of some effort, everything was finely crafted, and full of detail. I went at it slowly. First I read some of it in English translation, then I bought it in Slovene translation. That translation was just poor, with errors and mistakes, and I struggled with it for a while, considered going back to English translation, and it never happened. This was a decade ago, and I still haven't returned to it. It's possible that it just wasn't as good as I remembered it, that it started to drag at some point, and I lost interest. It's also possible I don't want to soil the memory of a good time that I had with it, or it's that I want to preserve it for a time when I'll find myself ready to go at it again. Who knows. I just pulled my copy from the desk drawer, it is inviting. Maybe...
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