Dazzling. Spellbinding. Exhilarating. Brilliant. Masterpiece.
These adjectives were typical of the sort used last year to describe
Jonathan Franzen‘s “The Corrections,“ a book that has long been on my
reading list and proved to be more than well worth the wait. This is the
type of novel one can actually let age a bit past the initial furor of
its release, and then completely savor because it deserves, if not
surpasses, all of its hype.
In this case, it wasn‘t just that Franzen, the New Yorker and Harper‘s
columnist whose previous two novels were “The Twenty-Seventh City“ and
“Strong Motion,“ had acquitted himself as a Dickens for the new
millennium, he was also at the eye of the storm of the biggest literary
broohaha of 2001.