One of the reader reviews on the back of this book says "This novel stretches the boundaries of contemporary literature. It is a gifted writer's love affair with the language." I couldn't agree more. And to that end, as a love affair of sorts, I believe it should have been kept a private one. The sentences were beautiful in this book, each passage was gorgeous even. I wrote many of them down to come back to. But as a 750 page novel, that many beautiful sentences is more that I am interested in reading. And, I felt like at the end (the last 75-100 pages) things just got a bit choppy - they lost to beauty and flow and became almost staccato - for a book that's biggest pro is language, I was disappointed in that transition. The characters were rich and full and I wanted so badly to be more involved with them, but I just couldn't be. There was a language block here that was hard to pass through for even the more experienced readers - and it kept me out. I respect what Helprin wrote, but I cannot honestly say I understood it. I feel like the story was supposed to represent something larger, to be something larger - similar to a 100 Years of Solitude-like epic story - but it always felt just beyond my grasp. If that's what he meant to write, then he nailed it. But my inability to hold onto the meaning translated into a need to slog to get through the book. I'm sad about it, to be honest, but this book just wasn't what I wanted it to be.