I feel an odd connection to Franzen’s writing. His portrayal of a midwestern upbringing in the 70s strikes eerily close to home. Sometimes I felt as though I were the main character in the story, largely due to his great skill as a writer and the story intersections with my own personal history.

Some of these stories I had read previously, in part or in whole, in The New Yorker, which means I paid twice for the pleasure of reading them. And perhaps Franzen was paid twice for the effort, which is good work if you can get it. These stories are well worth the price paid.