In which our Author bludgeons one T. Shandy, Gent.

I finally finished Tristram Shandy. This was no easy task; in fact, reading this classic took me the better part of a month, and it offered me little joy. In retrospect, the reasons for committing to finish it seem tame: 1) it's an 18th-century comic novel, and I generally like that sort of thing; 2) I think I recall that my dad was fond of it; and 3) I absolutely refused to believe that the narrator would never get to the point. I know that's the conceit of the book, but I couldn't believe that 478 pages after embarking on this "sentimental journey" (another book by Sterne that was well worth the effort I put into it), after many promises by the narrator to get to the point, I ended the book feeling not only that I hadn't made any progress whatsoever but also that perhaps my copy had the last page missing.

I can't say I wasted that month of reading, but I feel the same way I do when I work out solidly all week and then find that the scale hasn't budged. What's the point? I know I've gained some benefit by exercising my body or my mind, but it's hard to grasp.

Then the other night, Jeff and I were enjoying delicious margaritas and Mexican food at a place called Samantha's, and we were talking about the blogs I read and some of the "characters" I follow. I can be quiet the callous author, you know. I understand intellectually that these people writing the blogs are sentient human beings, but I think I see them more as book characters. I'm always wanting them to further the plots of their lives, and I get quite frustrated when they don't.

There's one in particular whose entries can be extremely dull. She admits her life is going nowhere. She's depressed and sees little hope for improving her situation. And yet there's this spark--I feel that she could pull herself out of her funk, get her life together, and start writing some good stuff. I keep believing, but she has yet to deliver.

"She's your Tristram Shandy," Jeff observed. "You're so sure she's going to get to the point. I'm telling you: She'll never get to the point."

He's probably right. And he actually knew this person once upon a time, so he's not just basing his observation on stereotyping. I know that people who live in that perpetual fog don't find the way through the gloom more often than they do. But I have to believe that it's possible that this "character" will come out on top. Or at least, that she will find a way to go down in flames rather than sighs.