By Nightfall, by Michael Cunningham

I'm reading Michael Cunningham's latest because it was on the shelf at the library in the "Lucky Day! Hot titles. Available now" section so I figured why not. It's sort of irritating me, in an engaging way. I went looking up reviews and this, from the Washington Post review, is nicely put: "With its eroticized reflections on modern aesthetics and liberal guilt, it's like watching a bi-curious college professor annotate an Abercrombie & Fitch catalogue." Cunningham's (or rather, his character's?) comments on art are interesting. What's also interesting is that I read the Washington Post and New York Times reviews and they are as different as if they were reviews of different novels, I think. I don't want to read more reviews, at least not until I finish the book. Then maybe I'll have more to say. But I might not. There's not much there. Like I said, it's engaging, but it's not something I have to think about a lot, not a book I'll be turning over in my head as I'm falling asleep. Probably not a book I will think of again in six months, five years, ten years, and be like, "Oh, that's like--" or "Oh, what was that novel where--"