I've started calling Nicholson Baker the Seinfeld of contemporary literature, because what does he write about? Nothing. And everything. Via the routine happenings and daily detours of life (that should at best be mildly interesting) he somehow engages and endears. The main difference between Baker and Seinfeld being that Seinfeld is funnier and Baker's lead characters -- Paul Chowder, in this case -- are much more likeable, loveable even.
I admit yawning through the first chapter or so of this latest Chowder installment, but thereafter I was hooked, along for the ride wherever it might lead, though if asked what the book was about could say little more than: Chowder wants to compose music and get back together with his ex-girlfriend Roz. Oh, and there's the dog, and some poetry, and Planet Fitness, and Quaker meetings, and Tyrconnell, and cigars, and more cigars, and that traveling sprinkler . . .
Why did I read this? Because. Just because. And as it turned out, that is reason enough.