I’d have expected it to be Ulysses. After all, that was the book I thought I’d be able to read, only so I could say I’d read it. Can’t be too hard; you just read one page after another and before you know it, the book’s over.
I was over pretty quickly. Can’t recall now if it was before the bottom of page one, or just after. Ulysses turned out to be a spectacular non-read.
But no, my totally unscientific understanding of the book most often not finished – according to the Guardian’s ‘The books that made me’ – appears to be Moby Dick.
I get it. I haven’t read it either. Unlike Ulysses, I didn’t even start, or not that I can remember.
Right now I’m even looking at the pile of post that arrived today, and that I haven’t opened. But I have actually read some things. Just not anything I’m telling you about. Or not yet.