Jonathan Franzen is wicked funny, and in Freedom, he introduces us to the Berglunds, a politically correct couple who move into a Saint Paul slum. They gentrify a grand old house on Barrier Street. The yuppy families that follow suit admire Patty Berglund, in a jealous sort of way. She’s tall, a former college basketball player. She’s willowy, and good-natured, and easily entertains the neighborhood children.

This is how it goes:

Barrier Street wives: Oh, that Patty. How does she do it?

Barrier Street husbands: Oh, that Patty. I talk to Patty at the barbecue. I talk about Patty back at home.

Barrier Street wives: Shut up! Sure would be nice to see Patty trip on a sidewalk crack.

The wives get their wish when Patty meets her nemesis, who turns out to be none other than her doted-on son, Joey. This boy was born cocky, and he knows how to push Mom’s buttons.

As Patty falls apart, her therapist recommends that she write her own autobiography. Patty titles it “Mistakes Were Made,” wherein she takes us back to college, basketball, friendships, first love. To call Patty’s how-I-met-Walter story a love triangle hardly does it justice. Affections and desire between Walter, Patty and their campus friends play out more like cloverleaf highway ramps.

Franzen’s characters are a satisfying and hilarious stew of humanity. Oh, the things they tell themselves when they want something they shouldn’t want. I’m in control of this. Nobody can tell how badly I want it.

This full-color portrait of the Berglunds and their world gets harder to take in a chapter on Joey. In one of his many adventures, he spends a few summer-break weeks in a New York City apartment where the faulty plumbing sends sewage bubbling up in the bathtub. We know boys that age are especially driven by the brain in their pants, but this chapter is so sex-saturated and gross that nearly outdoes that dirty bathtub.

In a later chapter, Walter lets loose on his politics, letting me know, in no uncertain terms, that people like me are bad, stupid and a pox on the planet. Assuming Walter speaks for Franzen, I guess I won’t be inviting the author over anytime soon to share a little of this Over-the-Moon Banana Pudding. Why risk ruining my Moon Pie experience?

I did like his story, however. I plowed through the final scenes while swatting off bugs at an outdoor Beatles tribute concert. And I shut the book, satisfied with the ending.