Reading Whale-Sized Books
A couple weeks ago I was lucky enough to catch a screening of Raul Ruiz’s last film, Mysteries of Lisbon, on its brief (but glorious) theatrical sprint through San Francisco. The film is very much concerned with the passage of time, and all told, your ten bucks gets you 272 minutes (four and a half hours) of entertainment, not counting a 10-minute intermission.
I’ve never been one to shy away from a long movie, but when it comes to fiction, if a book is longer than 400 pages, it’s going to need some really exceptional cover art to get me on board. It’s not that I don’t believe these books won’t be great, it’s that I’m a painfully slow reader who hates putting down a book half-finished. If I start a novel that’s 900 pages, I could be working on it for a few months. What if it’s not brilliant? (On the other hand, as a friend pointed out, this could be extremely cost-effective entertainment.)




