Okay, I'm going to try this one again in honour and in memoriam of DFW.
I suspect this book is going to become like James Joyce's [book: Ulysses] for me: a literary albatross around my neck.
I cannot tell you the number of times I've picked up each, but been unable to sustain the effort or make any headway. And yet, they both peck at my conscience like crows, holding out shiny baubles in the form of other readers' accolades and the gnawing belief that, as an English lit graduate, I am somehow incomplete for not having finished--and enjoyed too, dammit!--either.
I will be back with more ...
Words of encouragement, if you've read these and are reading this, much appreciated. :-)