![]() ![]() Upon Young’s death in 1995, thirty years after the novel was published, the New York Times proclaims it “one of the most widely unread books ever acclaimed.” “I’ve paid for no one’s education!” he writes. ![]() One Amazon reviewer claims he gave a copy of the twelve-hundred-page novel to each of his friends and promised that if they finished, he would pay for their children’s college education. The online reader reviews I found vary between naked revulsion and sheepish endorsement. When it was published in 1965, the critic Peter Prescott gave up after two days, even though his editor offered him four times the normal rate (everyone else had refused). ![]() ![]() They feel less like user warnings or cautionary tales than being forced to gaze upon the skeletons of those who had previously made the attempt. But in the history of my reading life, I’ve encountered nothing like the caveat lectors surrounding Marguerite Young’s Miss MacIntosh, My Darling. Critics complain that they’re exasperating or impossible or not worth the time. Like the holy books, long novels are more often maligned than read. ![]()
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