There were two very trying things about this book: 1. The writing is so good, it made me feel shame for wanting to be a writer. It wasn't inspiring to sit and read Morrison and thing to myself, "I can never do this,": it was dispiriting. 2. The story is so dread-filled, and in 21st century America we've become so nearly enlightened (well, some of us have, highlighted by the fact that the unenlightenable have become so toxic and near-violent) that it filled me with remnants of shame for the sins of whitepeople, and I don't always want or need to feel that. So, it took much longer to read the book than it ought to have.