From the San Francisco Public Library:
The item(s) listed below are due back soon.

AUTHOR:  Roth, Philip.
TITLE:   Letting go.
CALL NO: F Roth Phi

I’ve read most of Philip Roth’s books. They’re dark, funny and, I believe, sincere. Always enough intra-family hate to spread around and make me glad I didn’t grow up in any of his families — or interfere with any of his marriages. Not escape reading, but reading that tells me I’ve escaped. Well, I’m packing Letting Go in at page 475. These damn characters have worn me out with their constant snarls and threats. If I were the good little book reader I was thirty years ago, I would have put on my waders and and marched through the remaining 155 pages. No, my life is too precious. I’ll find another 155 pages in a book I want to finish.

Ten years ago, I closed up War and Peace for good at page 1,000. Still had 300+ to go. At page 900 my head was filled with too many Russians. If they were Americans, I probably could have followed them. I have friends who love War and Peace and they’re the ones the History of Literature will smile upon. I would have liked the warm glow of having finished the most important book in the world, but I couldn’t hang in.

And how many of us have promised to read the Bible cover to cover? And how many have even gotten through Genesis? Same thing with the plays of Shakespeare. I know I should read them, see them, experience them somehow. I do experience these books — by epigraph. If I read enough other books, there’ll be enough chapter headings to fill me in with a working knowledge acceptable to my circle of friends.

Six years ago, I was given the novel, “A Suitable Boy,” by Vikram Seth. It was a birthday gift. At 1,475 pages it was suitably imposing. A few months later I rolled my eyes, picked it up, and began reading. At page 80, I felt like I’d felt after seeing the fifth episode of the Sopranos. Thrilled that there were at least five more seasons to go. I’m a nighttime reader. I couldn’t wait until the two hours between my favorite TV shows and sleep, because I filled them with this wonderful story. Last night, for my birthday, I got another big book — 600 gilt-edged pages. Mark Twain’s Roughing It. I read fifty pages and I know I will read the rest. Because it’s fun.

Don’t judge a book by whether it hurts your arthritic hand when you pick it up.