Here's the first of my summer reads (which may not be as many as in previous summers, I think)... Jonathan Lethem's The Fortress of Solitude. He spoke at a library author's panel a few weeks back, so I bought and had him sign this one. It was billed as the following: coming-of-age, gritty and realistic, comic book, superheroes, sci-fi, urban slice-of-life, first-love, magical realism. Well, it was 509 pages long. There were some interesting parts (I almost would've recommended it to El Chuxter, with its frequent comics and early classic American music references), but too graphic and "mopey;" left me with no emotional connections to the characters, aside from scorn or apathy. I had no idea how it would end, and when I got to the final chapter, I still wasn't even sure. Weird shifts in point-of-view (that confirms when/if I write my own book, I cannot do that and expect to hold readers' attention).