While reading The Corrections I really understood the meaning of 'schadenfreude' because I despised almost every character in this book so much that the more miserable their lives got, the more enjoyment I took from it. And when a shotgun was introduced late in the novel, I read the rest of it with my fingers crossed while muttering "Please please please please please please..." in the hope that at least one of those pitiful shits would end up taking a load of buckshot to the face. 
 The Lambert's are a Midwestern family, and while the grown children have all moved to Philadelphia and New York, the parents have remained in St. Jude. The father, Alfred, was a workaholic middle manager for a railroad and he's the kind of joyless repressed bastard that considered all pleasures frivolous and taking a coffee break as a massive character flaw. Now retired, he's suffering from Parkinson's and dementia. He deserves it. 
 Enid is the mother. (Seriously, Franzen? Enid? I've lived in the Midwest all my life and have never met an Enid. I know you were making a point on how square the old school Midwesterners are, but that's pushing it.) She's a delusional nagging harpy from hell who aims her passive aggressive attacks at whichever family member has recently burst the bubble of whatever fantasy she is currently clinging to. Through most of the book, Enid has her heart set on one last family Christmas at the house in St. Jude, and the evil bitch will stop at nothing to get it. 
 Gary is the oldest and a successful investment adviser in Philly, but he married a woman who wants all ties severed with his family and has a special way of getting his sons to join her in her efforts. Torn between trying to placate his wife and his mother while letting their denials of reality make him crazy and trying to be 'the responsible one', Gary is running himself ragged to avoid admitting that he's depressed. Someone should pimp slap him so hard that his fillings fly out of his teeth. 
 Chip, the middle son, is a waste of skin with a special talent for self-destruction. He torched his academic career as a professor just as he was about to get tenure by having an affair with a student and then becoming obsessed with her. He's now a mooch in New York working on a screenplay so horrible that it'd make a Michael Bay movie look good by comparison. He's also the kind of douche bag who thinks that getting rivets put in his ears and wearing leather pants is cool even though he's over thirty. 
 Denise is the one character that I actually had some sympathy for. A daddy's girl who adopted Alfred's work ethic, she's a successful chef of an upscale restaurant, but she's also got a messy personal life, including trying to figure out her sexuality. At least she's the one member of this dysfunctional hellspawned family that knows she has issues and tries not to deceive herself any more than most people do. 
 The weird thing is that even though I loathed the Lamberts and almost every supporting character, too, that I actually enjoyed this book. I usually can't stand stories where all the characters' problems are self-inflicted emotional wounds due to a basic refusal to admit and face reality. However, I have to admit that I found this compelling reading. Maybe I was into it for all the wrong reasons. Namely, that I hated the Lamberts so much that their continued suffering brought sweet tears of joy to my eyes. That's probably not what Franzen intended, but he had to create some incredibly vivid characters and do justice to their pathetic lives to make me hate them so very, very much.