I finished reading Ward Just's An Unfinished Season last night.

It is the first book I have read by the well-respected author, a coming-of-age novel set in Chicago environs in the '50's. One could go into a bag of tricks and bring up comparisons to other such writers, and talk about his device of not using quotation marks.

Having given up most literary criticism years ago when I left the big school, I'll leave that to others.

I can say that at my age, these novels of young men or women struggling with their identities don't interest me anymore. I like a good whodunnit now, though I would read Mr. Just again on another topic. This was his 14th novel.

Coming-of-age reading to me now is standing in the drug store aisle of Wal-mart reading the ingredients in anti-wrinkle creams.