I'm barely through one fourth of the story . In spite of this I am alredy missing the book. Missing the sense of adventure Robinson started out with, now that sea squalls, "savage beasts" and chores are the daily bread of the adventure. Gone, in little more than a flash, are the hopes of a youth bent on experiecing the world. Only daily responsibilities, the bane of the young, could vanquish such hopes. But this is fiction, not only fiction but literature. As such you have to expect more than an adventure story, expect insights to life.
As I continue I feel less inspired and more sobered by this fact. When I'm finished I expect to miss not only the inspiration but the sobering thoughts as well. The book willl have become just that a book, although a decent one. Oh well, I 'll look forward to Mark Twain.