Embarrassingly, I couldn't (or wouldn't?) finish this book. I only got to about page 54, then gave up. The good, glowing reviews made me want to read it, but in the end, reading it felt like a chore; perhaps more interesting than washing dishes, but just. The writing was exquisite and layered. I wasn't particularly enamored by the characters or setting; I've finished books with these perceived flaws before though. It was the length that did it for me in the end; I wasn't willing to give up a month of my reading life when other far more intriguing books were calling, calling my name. Enough said.
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Two other things: by "setting" above, I mean New York. New York settings don't always bother me (read: Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler) but this one seemed "too New York" to be anything but annoying, insder-y, and slightly pretentious.
Also, the cover. Every time I picked up the book and saw that guy crying... it made me think something really, really awful was going to happen to these sort of awful people, and that eventually made me not want to read the book anymore.