While others were off working on sourdough starters, I spent quarantine somewhat obsessively reading all of Jonathan Franzen’s books (yes, even his admittedly dreadful first effort, The 27th City).  Purity is his most recent novel, and probably his best reviewed, but for me it failed to stick the landing. Franzen divides his books into sections told from different characters’ points of view.  Big, long sections.  When you’re with Andreas Wolf, you don’t care about anybody else, but then the section ends and then BAM, you […]