This is the sixth Bellow novel I've read, and the first one I've read since I finished Humboldt's Gift on July 8, 1981. Sammler is a nice guy, in contradistinction to most other central characters of Bellow's novels, but nevertheless I was awfully bored by this book. I guess I am just intellectually lazy, but I thought this was a stupid book. I only read it because I am reading the National Book award winners. I am glad I got this one read. I enjoyed William Gaddis's A Frolic of His Own better than this book, even tho this book is written very lterately, and uses proper punctuation.