American Modernism: (1910-1945) Book

I have attempted to read this book on two separate occasions and I couldn't get beyond 100 pages either time. I do believe that this has more to do with me than the book and I plan on making a third attempt at some point in the future.

Currently it sits on my bookshelf and sometimes (when I have a few too many beers) we have a talk.

Me: Hi.
Catch-22: Oh, hi.
Me: How are you feeling?
Catch-22: I've been better.
Me: Don't be upset. It's not you. It's me.
Catch-22: I know that.
Me: My friends tell me I'm an idiot for ending our relationship.
Catch-22: I agree.
Me: I'm sure the reason I don't laugh or enjoy myself when I'm with you has more to do with my own flaws than with yours.
Catch-22: Of course. I'm flawless.
Me: I don't know if I would go that far.
Catch-22: Well, you've already admitted that it's your fault so I don't know if you're the best person to be judging whether or not I'm flawed.
Me: Hey, now! I didn't laugh once when I was with you.
Catch-22: I've been forced to sit on this bookshelf for years while you plop in front of the TV to laugh at Will Ferrell movies. I'll give you Anchorman but Step Brothers? Don't talk to me about what is or isn't funny.
Me: The sleepwalking scene in that movie is pure genius!
Catch-22: I rest my case.
Me: Ok, ok. You're right. I promise you that one day I'll be mature and enlightened enough to appreciate you and when that day comes, you and I will have some fun together.
Catch-22: I won't hold my breath.