I think that's what makes it so affecting. In some ways he's a man who'll pursue his own happiness at any cost, defying social expectations to pursue his passions both in academia and in his brief love affair. But he's also a kind man, in a way that's equal radical; he's surrounded by all kinds of devious, dissolute jerk-offs who take advantage of him, but there's a sense that he feels like a failure in so many ways. He's neither a dutiful child or a prestigious scholar, doesn't die heroically in war. He's as good of a husband as he can be, but never truly understands his wife and allows his child to become estranged from him - because whenever he pursues his own happiness the world throws it back in his face, and inertia begins to set in. By many measures he lives a full and happy life, but as readers we see all the missed opportunities for joy - and by association think about all the lives lived that never achieve their fill potential.

One of my favourite novels! I see what people mean about it hitting harder if you're a little older, but when I first read it in my early twenties I must've sat in silence with tears running down my face for a good ten to fifteen minutes after finishing it. I wasn't sobbing or anything, just spontaneous tears and a total lack of will to do anything but let the whole thing sink in, as though I were recalling my own life rather than the plot of a novel. Very few works have transported me so completely, before or since.

DNF'd for the first time in ages with The Atlas Six. The fact that >!the 'big secret' hinted at for >50% of the book was literally in the blurb!< pushed me over the edge. Liberating!