Anecdotal evidence and my own experience suggests that one’s enjoyment of a book correlates with the velocity with which the book is finished. And not like this:
“I’ve been reading this book for six months,” one says to another. “Wow, you must really like it!” says the other.
But more like me and The Corrections by Jonathan Franzen, a 557-paged book which I started reading last Sunday around 9pm and just finished five minutes ago. It certainly lived up to its billing as spellbinding and mesmerizing, although Time magazine’s pronouncement of it as one of the 100 greatest novels of all time is hyperbole because The Corrections has glaring flaws and not a single likable character, but I still blazed through it, I laughed, I cringed, I could not put it down even as the clock neared midnight and my brain screamed for sleep, I was thrilled when my newspaper wasn’t delivered in the morning so I could read it on the subway, I skipped lunchtime walks so I could soak up another 30 pages, and finally, FINALLY I have finished the book with great relief, great sadness, and no real life affirmation, because The Corrections is more entertaining than enlightening, although I did give repeated mental thanks to God for not being born in the Midwest, and my takeaway life lesson involves the perils and perks of senior citizen cruise travel.
