I'm trying to get through Independence Day by Richard Ford for a workshop class, and I'm having a hard time of it. (Not to be confused with the sci-fi Independence Day.)
It's an "accomplished meditation on the middle-aged confusions of the suburban American male" who is divorced, has an NSA fling with another woman, sells real estate, and is trying to be a father to a son who may or may not have "problems."
It won the Pulitzer for fiction in 1996, and I'm sure it was well deserved. The writing is good. I simply can't get into the story.
Part of me says it's good to read things I wouldn't normally read - expand one's horizons and that. Part of me says that if I'm several chapters in and still feeling completely indifferent to it, then it's likely a lost cause. I'm not getting anything out of it. It reminds me a lot of Anne Tyler's books, another author I struggle with. She writes well, but her stories don't interest me. That's allowed, isn't it?
Unfortunately, I have to keep reading Ford for this workshop. I've taken to speed reading and skimming through the chapters, just to get it over with, and then I let myself read a few chapters of Little, Big as a reward.
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