I finished Freedom over the weekend. I considered just stuffing it under my pillow, in hopes of absorbing the main points by osmosis, but the sheer size of the book was bound to give my neck a crick and, after reading part way through, I really didn’t want Jonathan Franzen anywhere near my bed.

I think this may be a book intended for men. Personally, I couldn’t bring myself to like any of the characters. I found it a strange mix of personal and political. And I only got half way through most the rants. (Even minor woman-on-the-tourist-bus type characters were ranting. All the time!)

Whew. I don’t usually write about books I don’t like. Fortunately, I think Johathan Franzen’s doing okay without my personal stamp of approval. There was that whole National Book Award/Pulitzer Prize list thing. And he has Oprah on his side.