Endings and beginnings

I finally finished reading The Sportswriter (which is good, because seeing the Order of the Phoenix last night made me really, really want to read the last book). I enjoyed Richard Ford's writing, but it lacked ... direction? Plot? A character I really cared about? I don't know what. I think this lack may have directly led to my rather slow reading of the book. I kept feeling like I was missing something -- here was an everyman, living the suburban life, but why did I care? It all seemed muted, which is perhaps what Ford intended. Are we all living that way? Somehow disappointed in our lives, our choices? I don't know. I'm going to read about magic and wizards and good and evil now, but before I do, I'll leave you with one of my favorite lines from the book: "There are times when life seems not so great, but better than anything else, and when you're happy to be alive, though not exactly ecstatic."