If you are someone who is fairly new to reading as a pastime, someone who is trying to make reading more of a habit, or someone who wants to dive into the world of literary classics but sense you have a daunting task ahead of you, then this post is for you.

---

Adding a book to my reading list, or TBR, is not a decision I take lightly. Indeed, when I make the decision to read a book, I think of it as a commitment. And when it comes to classic literature, especially, that commitment invariably includes engaging with a complicated text, learning something about the author and the time period in which it was written, and reflecting not only on the major themes and implications (e.g., social, cultural, moral) of the text, but also on my own responses to them.

Making the commitment to read a challenging book—and honoring that commitment—is how we become better readers. It’s how we learn from literature, how we improve our critical thinking skills, and more fundamentally, how we build literacy skills—that is, how well we can understand and infer meaning from a complex and nuanced text. On a practical level, though, reading should also be enjoyable. If reading is to become a habit, it needs to be fun.

And that means embracing the challenge of reading a difficult book, while also prioritizing enjoyability. The magic of a great book is often found in the balance. My thoughts on this subject are best summarized in the phrase:

Life is too short to read books we don’t like; however…

The “however,” or the caveats that follow, are significant. Sometimes, if not most of the time, it is worth it to stick with a book that isn’t enjoyable from the first page. And a number of issues that may make a book unenjoyable are common and easily remedied if we know what to look for. Other issues include what we bring to the table as readers—our attitudes and our circumstances at any given time. Indeed, sometimes we have to meet a book at the right time in our lives in order to really appreciate its value. That said, the purpose of this post is to help you choose the right books for you, especially if you’re trying to read more of the classics, so you can make that commitment to read a difficult book and maximize your chances of following through with it.

Life is too short to read books we don’t like; however…

It may be a case of “right book, wrong time.”

I mentioned in a previous post that I recently spent a few weeks in Italy. I took three books on my trip: Marble Hall Murders by Anthony Horowitz, an ornithology textbook, and a Victorian novel which shall, for the moment, remain nameless. Marble Hall Murders was a delight, as I knew it would be (Horowitz never disappoints.), and I finished it rather quickly. The ornithology textbook, which complements an online course I’m taking, is rather bulky. I therefore opted to carry it in my checked baggage, which meant, for my flight home, I had only the Victorian novel to read. I had already started it and made some decent (a few hundred pages) progress.

And let me tell you…when faced with the prospect of having only that novel to read, plus whatever movies were available on the inflight entertainment system for nine hours, I would almost have rather attempted to swim across the Atlantic. That novel was not the right book for the occasion. Thankfully, the bookstores at Munich airport had a good selection of contemporary fiction in English, and I was able to pick up a cozy mystery to get me through the long flight home.

My biggest issue with the Victorian novel in question: slow plot development accompanied by a series of digressions by the author, which I thought were more intrusive than they were helpful, and which further hindered the development of the already slow-moving plot. I wasn’t immediately crazy about the characters either. I thought they were flat and unrelatable. This was not the right book to captivate my attention on a flight for nine hours, and I knew it.

Does that mean I will never pick up this particular novel again? No. I want to give it a fair chance. I even hope that, under different circumstances and with adjusted expectations, I may find it enjoyable. Yes, I felt the plot was slow-moving and the characters a bit lackluster at first, but I also felt the author was witty and insightful. In other words, there may be hope for this novel yet. I will refrain from mentioning the title until I have given it a second chance and made a final critique.

It could be the edition.

Edition matters, especially when it comes to classics. I always research the edition before I buy. Always. What I’m looking for: a preface and/or introduction by an editor and a comprehensive notes section. The introduction gives you valuable information about the history of the text you’re reading (although you may want to read it last, as it often contains spoilers). And a good notes section is essential.

Because older literature often contains archaic language and obscure cultural references, a good notes section can make all the difference in your understanding and enjoyment of a book. (The notes explain these things for you, so you don’t get lost.) Not all editions are created equally in this regard, and older editions of the classics, especially, may be lacking in notes, which could leave you feeling confused and unsure of the author’s meaning.

In my experience, Penguin Classics, Vintage Classics, and Oxford World’s Classics are all reliably good choices.

It could be the translation.

If you’re reading a book in translation, the translation you choose matters. I read War and Peace a few years ago, and I researched the translation before buying the book. As I’m sure you can imagine, I didn’t want to commit to a book of that length unless I was confident I was reading the best version available. Ultimately, I selected the Pevear and Volokhonsky translation, and I loved it. What an exquisite, wonderful book.

Because they earned my trust with War and Peace, I also purchased the Pevear and Volokhonsky translation of Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment, which I am reading now, and which I am constantly struggling to put down because it is so, so good.

The quality of a translation can make or break your experience as a reader. My advice: do your homework before buying a book in translation.

Sometimes, it is important to do difficult things.

As I said at the beginning of this post, making a commitment to read a challenging book—and following through with that commitment—makes us better readers. Sometimes, it is worth it, for that reason, to persevere when a book feels difficult or in some way doesn’t meet our expectations.

Embrace the challenge. Achieve the goal. You can be proud of yourself for having done so. The innate satisfaction of a job well done is its own reward.

If you choose not to finish a book, it is imperative you understand the reasons why.

Sometimes, we have to cut our losses and walk away from a book that we tried in earnest to finish. I had to do this with Julio Cortázar’s Hopscotch. I wanted to like this book so, so, so much. I tried reading it three times, and three times I left it unfinished. Why? The experimental plot structure, or rather, the lack of plot structure. It didn’t work for me. I can appreciate the novel and its ambitions, but I didn’t enjoy it.

What’s important, especially if you’re new to reading as a pastime, is understanding your reasons for liking or not liking a book. Often, we have impressions about a book that we can’t quite put into words, and “liking” or “not liking” are the first bits of information we can articulate. These are jumping-off points for further understanding. If you dislike a book enough to leave it unfinished, sit with your impressions. Try to identify what you don’t like. You may additionally find it helpful to consult reviews or analyses to see if other readers feel the same way you do. This is how we learn. Leaving a book unfinished, even if some consider it a masterpiece, isn’t a crime. What’s important is that it becomes a valuable learning experience.