The Man in my Basement by Walter Mosely. When I started reading, my impression was that I shouldn't like the book. The protagonist is unlikeable but it seemed like he wanted my sympathy, which usually ruins a book for me, and the portrayal of sexuality was not to my taste. Really, I do not need to know every single time the protagonist masturbates when it is not important to the plot or to establishing character. And yet, for reasons I don't understand, I enjoyed this novel. It's complex and psychological, dealing with guilt issues and race issues and probably other things I didn't get out of it during my first read-through. Many reviews have said that it leaves you thinking. It didn't leave me thinking, perhaps because it is a bit far removed from my reality, but I do see how it could leave one thinking. It's probably conducive to literary analysis, but I'm not into that sort of thing.

On the pragmatic side, the hardcover edition is also very small and compact, conducive to being carried in a purse. It's easy to read quickly without skimming, and compelling enough to make you want to keep going (although not so compelling that you stay up past your bedtime reading). The sexuality can border on graphic and gratuitous, but quantitatively it isn't excessive and I'd say it's stilli appropriate for reading in public.

Overall, I'm sure this is a very good book, and I did appreciate it, but I also think I'm not the appropriate audience to appreciate it fully.