I happened to be thinking of this book when I crossed the Tappan Zee bridge and saw the "Life is worth living" sign that always struck me as a little smug. (Is my life really worth living? How would you know, Mr. sign-maker?) I really liked this book because, even if superficially, it dealt with that fundamental question and - even more so - whether we even understand our lives as we're living them. I'm a sucker for this kind of philosophizing. I also tend to enjoy stories and books where the 'wise' narrator reflects back on his youth. That goes double when the book is so well-written, with such believable characters and great wit. I won't write out a formula but if the value of a book can be considered a +/-/neutral variable to the satisfaction of a smidgen of a life, this one weighted heavily positive for me.