Yep, still going with it. I've read of people taking their time with books because they didn't want them to end, but it's the first time I've done it myself. It's very rarely that you find yourself thinking as you go along, this is a masterpiece, but that's precisely what it is. The bar just got raised.
I note with interest that on the Random House site, the book is simply called "Leopard", di Lampedusa is De Lampedusa, and an author interview is coming soon. This is inexcusable. I further note the idiocy of the "starting points for your discussion". Probably worst of all is the underlying assumption that a work of art is created rather than discovered, that something is done in such a way in order to create an effect, rather than because it seemed to the author to be true. Next up is the notion that a piece of writing provides the opportunity to carry out a little home psychoanalysis of the writer. Next up is simple misreading: "There is a sense in which Don Fabrizio is imprisoned by the history and topography of Sicily..." Yes, a sense, a sense, which one might call total. Give me strength. What is it about people who wouldn't dream about tinkering aimlessly under their car bonnet that they've prepared to roll up their sleeves and assault in the most ham-fisted way possible ... etc, etc.
Horrible Elitists 'R' Us.