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PLEH. I slogged through The Sportswriter a couple of years ago, in preparation for this Pulitzer-winning dreck? There will be no more-vapid, more-self-absorbed generation of writers than the Babbitt-Rabbit-Bascombe generation. (Because our generation is so much more vapid than theirs, no one can bother to write the novelization. Dancing with the Survivor Island Idols is on, y'know. Writing is for losers. Duh.)
Part 2 of the trilogy that started with The Sportswriter.
challenging
emotional
reflective
slow-paced
Strong character development:
No
Loveable characters:
No
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
About a year and a half ago, I found this book on the side of the road and picked it up because I thought it was a book that spawned the movie, "Independence Day". I was, of course, wrong. I then decided to read it anyway even though I found out it was a sequel to two other books, both of which I hadn't read. It has since taken me approximately three months to finish this! I got so bored with it! When I picked it up a couple days ago (pre-election) I was like "Okay, parts of this are kind of dry humor and satirical, I can deal with this" and then after Tuesday I kind of couldn't bring myself to read the rest of this, since it's essentially a "white man complains about things" narrative. And yeah, it was written in a different time and place and context, but this is not what I need to be reading right now. Nonetheless, I finished it. I'm sure if you're a white man you'll probably enjoy this more than I did. Sometimes as a reader, I fail to meet books halfway, although I usually pride myself on being book-tolerant. But this time, I feel no regret about speeding through this and promptly throwing it at a wall after.
The book is set in summer of 1988 but its 44-year-old narrator refers to "negro" neighborhoods and "Negros" and it makes me itch.
Also the current owner of a house he's trying to sell is named "Houlihan."
It's disconcerting.
I'm almost done. Ford writes of the same everyday foibles that Russo writes of but with none of Russo's charm. Frank Bascombe is more like Rabbit Angstrom than Sully or even William Henry Deveraux Jr. And thus, eh.
Also the current owner of a house he's trying to sell is named "Houlihan."
It's disconcerting.
I'm almost done. Ford writes of the same everyday foibles that Russo writes of but with none of Russo's charm. Frank Bascombe is more like Rabbit Angstrom than Sully or even William Henry Deveraux Jr. And thus, eh.