Back in September, I made a list of books to read and said I was going to finish ten by the end of the year. Well, I've done it! I read a book.
You read that right, one.
Well this is the level of patheticalness that I have reached. At least I've read one, I suppose.
It was Lorrie Moore's new long-awaited novel A Gate at the Stairs. I love Lorrie Moore's short stories; she is one of the most brilliant people writing short stories today. Novel, not so much. It was good. It was much more well written than some of the books on my list are going to be, but I wasn't grabbed by it. About 2/3 of the way through the book--which up until then is about a sort of bland Midwestern college girl--things happen. And they're surprising but they can't carry the hundreds of pages that came before. I am reserving full judgment, however. When I first read Margaret Atwood's Cat's Eye, I hated it. I think that coming-of-age novels have to grow on me. This one may yet.