Dragged myself through the first 75 pages out of curiosity, loyalty to the grind, and a feeling that it was important to try. Raced through the final 70 pages - I'm not sure if it picked up or if Beckett's prose suddenly clicked with me (perhaps both). Illuminated the distinction between "liking" something versus truly enjoying something. Type 1/type 2 fun applies to books too?

My very literary friends appear to have been right about Beckett. This is also, arguably, the first piece of 'serious' reading I've completed in awhile (myriad of reasons). Encouraging!