Nada. Nothing. Zilch. Zero. Zip.
I’m trying to gear up to slog through another fifty pages of Clarissa before bed. It isn’t that the book is bad, but it is terribly dense and fifty pages can take several hours of time. This isn’t like winging through fifty pages of Austen or Brontë.
I could say it reads about as fast for me as any Melville. But that comparison is truly unfair: I hate Melville with a flaming passion and reading his work is torture. However, the reading of Clarissa is a comparable time-suck without a lot of quick forward momentum even if the story is interesting.
Am I going to get to the end of the novel by the end of the month?
Ummm…check in with me on the 25th…