The Pale King
I have no problem quitting books I’m not interested in (see If on a winter’s night a traveler) and I’ve pushed myself to finish books I really didn’t want to (see Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy). But I find myself in the extremely unusual position of wanting to quit reading a book I’m actually interested in.
Last month I picked up a few books from the CF library, one of them being The Pale King, the book David Foster Wallace was working on when he died in 2008. His editor collected the manuscript and draft computer files and compiled a book out of the pieces. It’s about 500 pages long, of which I’ve read about 150, but the chapter on deck is 98 pages (I’ve flipped ahead to look) and I feel antsy about spending so much time on this book and I feel like quitting where I am and move on to two books I’ve read before but have been increasingly wanting to reread: Cormac McCarthy’s The Road and (before the movie comes out next month) The Hobbit.
My usual rule of thumb with a book is that, if I’m not hooked within the first 50 pages, I give up and move on. Life is short and there are too many books I want to read (with what little free time I have during nights and weekends not allocated to movies). I feel I remain on-track to reading somewhere in the neighborhood of 500-600 books before I hit my eighties — legitimate old-age.
So back to The Pale King… it’s not that I’m not interested in the subject matter, because I am. And I’m not turned off by Wallace’s writing style; I did, after all, slog my way through Infinite Jest over the final months of 2005, his tome of 1,079 pages. Like that work, and like most of McCarthy’s novels, TPK can’t be skimmed: the beauty is in the words, the sentence structures, the dialogue, the imagery, et cetera. Each sentence deserves to be read deliberately, or not read at all.
Tomorrow I will remove my 1994 bookmark and return TPK to the library. It will remain on my to-read list for 2015, along with a dozen other titles I did not find time for this year.