Contumacious, part 2

I should be enjoying the Doris Lessing more than I am, at least according to the effusive reviews adorning the inside covers from writers and critics whose work I admire.    I do recognise the quality of the writing but do I really care about the characters?  There are are far too many to easily keep track of and the extended dialogue and contrived situations they find themselves in quickly wear thin.  (Yes, I know, fiction is by its very nature contrived.)  The fictional world Doris Lessing creates is attractive and I desperately want to immerse myself in it.  Something prevents this happening.  Is it me, my mood?  Should I make more of an effort?  Or, should I simply hurl the book across the room and chose another?