So, I finally finished Independence Day by Richard Ford. And no, it very much unfortunately has NOTHING TO DO with the Will Smith movie of the same title. I think I'm done with Ford's novels for a while(until, perhaps I'm fifty and have more to relate to him about). Richard Ford wrote a trilogy starting with The Sportswriter. The second book in the trilogy is Independence Day and it is the one that won the Pulitzer in 1996. I was worried about starting this 451 page tome right before Keren left and then, of course began, her trip in New Zealand. Why? Because The Sportswriter was highly depressing and I read it during that rough patch that we hit back at the end of April. I was anticipating that Independence Day would be more of the same, and I was unfortunately correct. It was, like before, good writing, but I don't really have anything in common with a divorced middle-aged white man living in New Jersey. The third book just came out this spring, but I'm not thinking it's going to be anywhere near the top of my list. I don't think I really have anything more to say...I kept waiting and waiting for something really interesting to happen, but perhaps that was the point of the novel. Frank Bascombe's son has a tragedy towards the end of the novel and it still doesn't create too many waves in his mind except perhaps to further his dreaminess and introspectiveness. I'll be off the lists for a couple of books I think, until I blast through one more library book, a lesbian romance novel and probably a Jodi Picoult novel from an employee of mine. Not to mention the fact that I need to start reading the new Michael Chabon book so that Gina and I can talk about it!!!!
GGs-26, PPs-27.