There’s something a little lonely and alienating about being on the opposite side of popular public opinion. In this case, I’m talking being one of the few people who did not fall head-over-heels in love with Jonathan Franzen’s Freedom.

In fact, I wouldn’t even go so far as to say I like like Freedom. Though I’m pretty sure that I like it. If I were in a relationship with this novel, our Facebook status would be “it’s complicated.”


Franzen’s tale of suburban ennui centers around Patty and Walter Berglund, their relationship, and the people who orbit planet Berglund. Patty’s from suburban New York the black-sheep athlete in a family filled with politicians and artists. She leaves home to go and play basketball at the University of Minnesota and never looks back. In school she meets mysterious rocker Richard Katz and his earnest roommate, Walter.

After some romantic hokey pokey, Patty chooses Walter and the two marry, settle down in St. Paul and raise two children. After a few decades in Minnesota, the Berglunds pack up and move to DC where Walter, an allegedly good liberal and environmentalist, heads up the Cerulean Mountain Trust. While in the nation’s capital a lot of shit hits a lot of fans. Then some other stuff happens.
Really, when you have a book that encompasses the entire life (and in Walter’s case his father and grandfather’s lives) of a few characters, trying to pithily summarize it is nearly impossible. It’s a big book about everything and the kitchen sink. Had it been a slightly smaller book without the sink, I might have loved it.

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