Welcome, sloots, to another edition of The Peckerwood Book Club, today with a vital question: do you judge a book by its page count? I'll admit that I do on occasion, much as I might judge a book by its cover art. For instance, I wouldn't be caught dead at a cafe reading this , since the cartoony cover makes it look like a twee book for halfwitted knobs (I haven't read it and likely won't, but that's besides the point). Similarly, if I find out that a novel is over 350 pages, I pause, just like I do when I learn that it's under 200.   Of course, this makes no sense at all. A novel shouldn't be judged as if you're ordering up piles of lumber or piping or bolts of fabric. The length is irrelevant, as I've learned from some terrific long-ish books, such as "Madam: The Biography of Polly Adler," which is over 500 pages, and  "Of Mice and Men," which clocks in at a supermodel-slender 107 pages.  Do you ever think twice about reading ...