Have you ever forced yourself to finish a book even though you've basically checked out? I'm on page 489 (out of 673 ) of Sexual Personae. I really enjoyed the first few chapters. But reading her manic analysis of authors I've never read is a bit disorientating for a pleb like me. I've just finished the chapter on Swinburne and Pater and realised that I wouldn't be able to explain in any meaningful detail what I've just read.