I gave up on Dreiser like I did on Hawthorne. The man's too sedate and austere. Hawthorne too. It feels like being in a public lecture when I have something more exciting to do, and I can't wait to flee. And I did. I whispered my farewell to Mr. Dreiser (after the last spoonfull of my butterscotch ice-cream), set the book aside and mourned a little. I knew something wasn't right when 200 g of butterscotch ice cream only took me through two pages. Sigh.