And for about the first half of the book I dreaded every minute of reading it. This book is comprised of ten short stories, all of them are connected in some way to All Saints, a fictional (I assume?) Anglican Church in Toronto. I was indifferent to most of the stories (perhaps even a little bored by them) but there were two that I flat out hated – I’m sure they had their artistic merit, but the characters were unlikable and they ended up in awfully depressing situations. The turning point came towards the end, I actually quite enjoyed the last three stories. This was when things started to come together and I started to appreciate the way Miller crafted the collection as a whole.
This is the kind of book that garners all sorts of literary acclaim, and deservedly so. But that’s not why I read, I read books because I enjoy them or want to learn something or find them interesting, and this book just didn’t do any of that for me. I certainly would not prevent anyone from picking it up, but I also would not recommend it either.