I’ll admit that I read this Nick Hornby novel almost entirely because I thoroughly enjoyed the 2000 movie adaptation with John Cusack (and was hopeful for a literary experience that would drive Lisa Bonet’s dreadful performance from my mind). And maybe it’s because I’m not only American but also have very fond memories of my youthful years in Chicago, but I think I enjoyed the movie more than the book. The narrator’s comic self-absorption is certainly entertaining, but very little of it comes off as profound, and I guess that’s my level of expectation when it comes to novels. Fortunately, the most memorable character in the novel is Marie, who is certainly no Cosby Kid. Makes me wonder if I should try reading Hornby’s “Fever Pitch,” with the hope that it will cleanse the part of my memory that holds the image of Drew Barrymore in a Red Sox cap.