It's been a while since I read this but I still think about it. It's upheld as a literary classic but when I first read the first few pages, all the way to the end of the book, all I could think about was how the book was very white. There's no other way to explain that feeling. It lacks a depth that can't be grasped by white people, to me it's as deep as a kiddie pool, but to whites it's as grand and as vast as the ocean. If I were white though, I'd probably love it. I'd probably think it's one of the best books of the modern age. But it's not. It really is missing something.