I have had such writer’s block with this post looming ahead of me. It’s been impossible for me to sit down and write about Freedom. It’s almost even been impossible for me to think about my own writing, and the finished books keep piling up, the reviews un-written, my story goes un-edited, and now when I finish a book, I’m never quite sure what will be next. I have almost abandoned all literary discipline. I had such a weird aversion to reading this book, and it’s transferring now to writing about it. I think this is because I hated how people wrote about Freedom. So I can’t write about it. I read Freedom and I thought it was pretty good. I was invested in it, I liked and hated the characters, I read pretty speedily. But never once did I think it was classic American literature or something I thought should be taught in high school.
And now maybe I can finally find some kind of Franzen peace.