Independence Day

No, I haven't skipped forward a few weeks on ye olde calendar. Rather, that's the title of a Richard Ford novel I started this evening in my ongoing quest to read all the Pulitzer Prize winners.

This one won the prize back in 1996.

It centers on Frank Bascombe, a middle aged former sportswriter turned real estate agent in the town of Haddam, New Jersey.

I have to admit, it's a little tedious so far.

Maybe, it's just my impatience with middle aged angst, regrets, and what-ifs.

Ford . . . or, rather Bascombe, though I believe the two are one in the same . . . seems particularly concerned about permanently boxing himself in, thus questions every decision he's every made or is in the process of making.

Hope this thing turns around . . . soon . . . or it's gonna take me til July 4th to finish it!