A beautiful and binding story, irony where it should be. It simplifies beautifully and crystallizes/reveals the petty meanness of the American heartland in the 80s.... when Bush the elder is an option because there is nothing else more interesting.... However beautiful the painting may be, with such a theme, how much will it touch you, that is?

In the 1980s, the American heartland was a place filled with complex emotions and hidden realities. The story unfolds, showing the rather unappealing side of this region. Bush the elder becomes a choice not because of his outstanding qualities but simply because there seems to be no other more captivating alternative. It's like a painting that may look beautiful on the surface, but when you dig deeper into its theme, you start to question how much it truly affects you.

This narrative takes us on a journey through the landscapes and mindsets of that era, highlighting the small-town pettiness and the lack of excitement. It makes us wonder about the true nature of the American dream during those times and how it was often overshadowed by the mundanity and meanness that existed beneath the surface.

This book was truly well-written.

The vivid imagery it presented was remarkable, enabling me to effortlessly envision in my mind's eye the various places and environments described within its pages. Moreover, the characters were expertly developed, adding depth and authenticity to the story.

However, for some inexplicable reason, I encountered a significant challenge in fully immersing myself in it. I constantly found myself pondering when the narrative would progress, as an inordinate amount of time was dedicated to Frank Bascombe's internal struggles and his musings about all the individuals he interacted with. They persistently discussed a murder that, paradoxically, did not seem to be an actual part of the main story. Instead, it was repeatedly revisited as a crucial yet unrelated arc that had no direct bearing on the plot.

Another aspect that I found difficult was that the book, which spanned nearly five hundred pages, focused solely on a few days in July.

I indeed appreciated certain aspects of the book, and I truly mean that. Nevertheless, it failed to grip me and make me eager to continue reading. I highly doubt that I will pick up the books that precede or follow it. Perhaps this book was simply a bit too intellectually demanding for me?

Ford's second Bascombe book is truly remarkable. It is filled with a great deal of brilliance and is definitely a career high point for him, worthy of the Pulitzer it won. The Baseball HOF scene is simply devastating and provides a vivid snapshot into late 80's America, which was the acme of The New Materialism. Ford bravely tackles a number of issues, including race relations. While today's audience may cringe at all the references to "Negro" and "Colored," the first-person narrator Frank Bascombe feels incredibly real. There is much to admire in this book, although it does occasionally drag, but then again, it is a 450-page novel. There are also some humorous turns that add to its charm. It makes me eager to finish the trilogy. I had already read the caboose of this train, Let Me Be Frank, his collection of FB short stories, and I'm sure I'll revisit it now. To know Frank, I believe, is to know a big part of Ford.

One thing that I find myself marvelling at is Ford's unique way of describing parenthood. It is very unsentimental. However, Bascombe's Achilles heel is his inability to fully connect with others. He keeps everyone at a distance, almost like a childless author. He is unapologetically selfish. I'm not certain if Ford could have written a character like Bascombe if he had experienced actual fatherhood. This makes a strong case for writing outside of one's familiar zone. I don't think it disqualifies Ford from writing about parenthood. He brings something to the table, perhaps fearlessness, that an experienced father might not have. It's not dissimilar to seeing or inhabiting a white character through the eyes of a person of color. There is a real debate going on about this right now. I will only say this: writers love to IMAGINE. We need to hear all voices and writing can be an exercise in empathy.

Exclusive for the fans of Ford - this novel! It is a torture to finish it. With its endless sentences and small, mean writing, the font chosen by Humanitas in the name of typographical stinginess. If it had the usual font of Humanitas, it would have counted at least a hundred more pages. If it had been better corrected by the 3! editors paid in vain + the translator (the first one whose mistakes in spelling, grammar or sentence structure should not pass)...

Something keeps me away from the translation style of Iulia Gorzo. I should write a book as long as Independence Day to argue my antipathy. My first "violent" contact with Iulia Gorzo's style took place with the reading of Sabbath's Theater by Philip Roth (which she butchered with her verbal tics and that obsessive "somewhere" - impossible to find its equivalent in the original version, I searched! - which in Independence Day is in an incipient stage, barely if she slipped it in about 10 times).

"Somewhere" and "in the way" define Iulia Gorzo for me. "In the way" sad. To build all the modalities with "in the way" becomes mind-numbing!

The protagonist of the novel is a middle-aged man, emotionally softened, who misses the company of other men and women - that's why he is looking for it - but who is not willing enough to give in (make concessions) spiritually, considering himself conveniently (Iulia Gorzo would have written "in the way" conveniently) incapable of love.

Recently, my review machine broke down and its repair took me several weeks, during which my reading also suffered. Therefore, Pech's literary door remained closed. I'm sorry, Bronislaw.

But there's no need to throw a fit - I'm back. And moreover, it's not done, the poor Jews have already tried their own, so not even from a joke! Independence Day is a continuation of Sportswriter, which I liked. Well, at least according to the review on goodreads, but what do I know, maybe it was a fluke here.

The main hero, Frank Bascombe, got divorced and started selling real estate. And all this in the 1990s on the East Coast of America. Wide ties of old Bush and such. In the first part, something must have appealed to me because I gave it a rather high rating, but here, by God, I couldn't find it.

Frank has two children who live with their mother and her new husband, and his 15-year-old son is causing a bit of trouble - once he stole something in a store and once he hit his father with a foreigner on the head. So Frank wants to spend Independence Day with him to straighten him out. Instead of straightening him out, however, they go to the Baseball Hall of Fame, where his son gets hit in the eye with a ball and has to have an operation, which is successful. That's all. And I didn't even need 500 pages for that.

I'd like to add that neither aliens nor Will Smith appeared in the book. 4/10.

Have we truly stepped into an era where novels no longer tell stories?

I don't have any objection to some thought-provoking digressions now and then. However, it appears that certain writers are more inclined towards flaunting how deeply sensitive and perceptive they are.

I managed to reach page 17 and came to the conclusion that this was a book whose purpose was not to provide me with a narrative.

It's quite concerning that in this supposed era, the essence of storytelling in novels seems to be getting lost.

Instead of engaging readers with a captivating plot and well-developed characters, some writers seem to be more focused on showcasing their own intellectual prowess.

But isn't the primary function of a novel to transport the reader into a different world and tell a story that will touch their hearts and minds?

Maybe it's time for writers to remember the importance of storytelling and bring back the magic that has made novels such a beloved form of literature throughout the ages.

I truly despised this book, with a passion. Just like many others, I was lured in by the allure of the Pulitzer Prize and the anticipation of an existential crisis within its pages. However, what I received was a collection of outdated and琐碎的 details about real estate and self-indulgent musings from a middle-aged, balding man whom I simply could not stand.

I persevered until the very end, because that's just who I am. Once I start a book, I am determined to finish it, even if it drains my will to live.

By the conclusion of this pretentious and mind-numbingly boring drivel, I believe I caught a fleeting hint of the emotion the obnoxious author was attempting to convey, but it was far too insufficient and came much too late. All I could think was, "Thank goodness, I'm only 40 pages from the end!"

How intense was my hatred for this book? So much so that I felt compelled to write a lengthier review of it than I do for most of the books that I actually enjoy. I loathed it to such an extent that it took me two summers to complete, with a long and (thankfully) book-filled break in between. In fact, I detested this book so profoundly that I sneer at other books I偶然 spy on the shelves written by the same author, who now tops my list of banned authors. A distinction shared by only one other to date, the insufferable Dave Eggers. I firmly believe that those two self-obsessed frauds should be locked in a room together and be condemned to ramble on to each other for all eternity. Or, even better, they should collaborate on a project, receive every award known in the book world, but keep that chaotic mess as far away from me as possible!

3.75 stars

The ending of this story or movie left me with a sense of dissatisfaction. It felt a little baggy, as if it wasn't tightly wrapped up. There were loose ends that could have been tied more neatly.

This lack of a more conclusive and tightly woven ending made me deduct a quarter star from my rating. I believe that a strong ending is crucial in leaving a lasting impression on the audience.

It should tie together all the elements of the plot, answer the major questions that were raised, and provide a sense of closure. Unfortunately, in this case, the ending fell short of these expectations.

However, despite this flaw, there were still many aspects of the story or movie that I enjoyed. The characters were well-developed, the plot had its moments of excitement and intrigue, and the overall production values were high.

Nonetheless, the baggy ending did have an impact on my overall experience, and it is something that the creators could have paid more attention to.

Overall, I would rate this story or movie as 3.75 stars, taking into account both its strengths and weaknesses.

I don't really know what makes me want to keep following the destiny of Frank Bascombe in this, which is the third book of Richard Ford about this man who is so failed, sometimes so pitiful.

I think it will be the parade of all his uncertainties, in the face of his ex-wife and his adolescent son. Frank fails, fails completely, with his son, with his girlfriends. We don't admire him or we admire him in his enormous weaknesses, as many as ours, perhaps more.

Frank Bascombe's story is like a complex web that entangles the reader. His flaws and failures are presented in a raw and honest way that makes us reflect on our own lives. We see him struggle with relationships, with finding meaning and purpose.

Despite his many shortcomings, there is something about Frank that keeps us engaged. Maybe it's the hope that he will eventually find some sort of redemption or that we will understand his character better as the story unfolds.

The writing in this book is beautiful and evocative, painting a vivid picture of Frank's world and the people in it. Richard Ford has a talent for creating characters that are both flawed and human, making them relatable and engaging.

Overall, this book is a fascinating exploration of a man's life and the choices he makes. It makes us question our own ideas about success, failure, and what it means to be a good person.

I first saw this book during one of my religion classes in college.

My seatmate, who is now a good friend of mine, brought it with him. I asked him if a certain movie was adapted from the book, and he firmly answered "no". This was also the first time I got interested in books that have won the Pulitzer.

Now Ford is, no doubt, a good writer. I love every minute Bascombe spent with his son. I can feel the tension between them, and Bascombe's desire to make their relationship work. It saddened me because as far as I could remember, during his "sportswriter" days, they had a connection. Then a death in the family sort of changed everything. Plus the divorce.

When I think about the book, what would always come to mind is the last scene, when Bascombe received a call from someone he wasn't sure who. The other party didn't talk and was making weird noises. He talked to the person still, telling the other party he was all right. That broke my heart for reasons still unclear to me, even to this day.

Maybe it was the sense of loneliness and uncertainty that Bascombe seemed to embody in that moment. Or perhaps it was the realization that despite all his efforts, there were still parts of his life that remained unresolved and mysterious. Whatever the reason, that scene has stayed with me, and it is a testament to the power of Ford's writing.

I’ll start by stating that Richard Ford is indeed a gifted writer. He is also an interesting thinker, and I have copied many of his quotes to my quote book. However, I had an extremely hard time getting through this book.

The “independence weekend drive” felt eternal, and the action is almost non-existent. The dialogues are so vague that I had a great deal of difficulty understanding what they were about.

I think, most of all, that this is a very male writer. His masculinity is a bit obtuse. It is so present that it actually irks me. And then, the climax is so stupid that it makes me hate the protagonist so much that I resent the best part of a week this guy took from me. Never again will I subject myself to such a reading experience.

I truly love the remarkable balance of irony and optimism that is so evident in Frank Bascombe. It presents a perspective on the world that is not only refreshing but also incredibly honest. It's as if through Frank's character, we are able to see the real and often complex nature of life. The way in which this balance is achieved is a testament to the author's skill. As ever, Ford's prose is simply beautiful. Each word seems to be carefully chosen and placed, creating a literary work that is not only engaging but also a pleasure to read. The descriptions are vivid, the dialogue is realistic, and the overall tone is one that draws the reader in and keeps them hooked until the very end. It's this combination of a unique character and beautiful prose that makes Ford's work so special.