As a reader I'm a dipper, rarely do I finish books. Rarer still do I finish novels. The latest one of that sort was around 2 years ago of Knut Hamsun's Hunger. Currently the craze is essays, picked up a copy of Hitchens' Arguably, and it's the perfect kind of thing, to begin and finish something in one sitting is a balm for too many aborted books, and too many breaks in the process of finishing the few that were completed. Artaud the theatre of cruelty guy aesthetisizes the fragmentary, and that's nice to fall back on, so as to not mope about inordinately. Yet it's a negative affirmation. Speaking of Antonin, he's the guy who encouraged me to read Chesterton's The Man Who Was Called Thursday, I think I finished that a bit before Hamsun. So to reassert, the essay format fulfills the completion need, and many thanks to the late Christopher Hitchens for that.