I'm Sorry I Can't Read The Luminaries

I tried to read The Luminaries by Eleanor Catton, I really did. I'm intrigued when any book raises a little controversy--the debate over whether the author, born in Canada, but an inhabitant of New Zealand, actually qualifies as being Canadian seems such a Canadian controversy. I was more curious as to why there was such a long waiting list at my local library for such a big book; lugging home a tome of 832 pages is surely a strain on the Smart Car's suspension and honestly, how many readers are really that dedicated for an unknown author? Even one that's won the Governor General's Award?
I wasn't put off by the size--a good book is never long enough and I loved The Goldfinch, The Poisonwood Bible and The Crimson Petal and the White precisely because of their length (the closer to the end of each I got, the slower I read). But there didn't seem any point to the wordiness of The Luminaries and when I dove in, I nearly drowned. The only thing that saved this Victorian style novel was the idea of editing.
The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry is the complete opposite in brevity of both length and depth.  I have to admit my personal prejudice for a story about a sales rep and bookseller and I was prepared to like this book a lot. So my disappointment was just as great. The story was all there on the surface, as likeable as a Hallmark card. But the bit about the abandoned baby in the bookstore--and baby makes three!--was just too movie-of-the-week for me.
I liked this book about as much as The Bridges of Madison County. And probably other people will too.

What more could you want than a dog, a book and a blog?