There are reviews that I sit down to and have no idea where to begin, but then manage to plow through them. And then there are reviews where I'd rather just tick off the "Yes, I finished this" button and be done with it. 
 This monstrosity is obviously the latter, because to finish this thing is the most you can brag. I had the book on my desk (because I wasn't in the mood to cram it into my purse, again) and someone walked by and said, "You're reading it? Good luck." A month later, I told her when I'd hit page 900, and the following week cried out, "What is that ending?!" 
 It's a book about everything and nothing. Addiction is at its root, but it would be stupid to say it was only about drugs. Oh, there are a lot of drugs. There are a lot of things that I, as a needlephobe, didn't want to read. We have life at the halfway house, where everyone is a little more than just interesting. We have the Enfield Tennis Academy, where tennis prodigies train for the professional circuit (or sputter and die out). But at the root of it is "the Entertainment," a dangerous film that, when first viewed, becomes the only thing you will do for the rest of your life. And it connects them all together in absurd ways. 
 There's a lot in here. Did I understand all of it? No. Did I learn more than I ever wanted about addiction? You bet. I heard it said that it's not a hard book to read, just long. And the fact that you keep on reading it says something to its underlying theme. The fact that I turned the last page and still wanted more is either intentional or ironic. Or both. 
 Because even as I read it I couldn't help but think, "How do you conclude something like that?" But you can't. Some things get wrapped up, and some things don't, but I suppose that's also the point.