To all the people that watched my brave struggle with this book; I dedicate this review to you.
I have really mixed feelings about this one. Was it an absolute struggle to read? Did I fall asleep after a page or two many times? Was I wishing I was reading something else, something were things actually happened, like, I don't know, say, 'Passions of a Wicked Earl' ? The answer to all these questions is yes.
Now, was I reading it with a pencil in my hand underlining sentences so I can put them as facebook updates later on? Did I think the opening line: "If I am out of my mind, it's all right with me, thought Moses Herzog" was the best opening line I've read in a while? Did I think it was exceptionally well written? Did I admire Bellow for going on for over 300 pages about absolutely nothing and still have people go gaga over it? Yes, yes, yes...
Did I think that Bellow used the book as an excuse to show off his elloquence and eruditism? (Like some other authors, cough, Cortazar, cough). Yes. So you see, I am getting schizoprenia.
I am glad I have finished reading it. I think it's solely responsible for the fact I was sleeping for 10 hours a day for 3 weeks. God, I need to read something stupid now.