I’m not an avid reader of classics, and I don’t believe that reading all of them is necessary to be a “real” reader. Some have left me completely indifferent, while others I loved. One even became my favourite book of all time: The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck. Although, depending on who you ask, Steinbeck’s masterpiece might not be old enough to count as a classic.
So let me raise the stakes with titles like Frankenstein and The Hunchback of Notre-Dame. I hope they’re old enough. And of course, I can’t forget the Brontë sisters, gloomy and melancholy, with their female characters I’m never quite sure whether to love or hate.
But I’ll admit it: I don’t read many classics, often because I find it difficult to connect with the story or with the language. They’re simply the kind of books I return to less often. I’d like to fill that gap eventually. How? With my (endless) list of classics. This time, I’m limiting myself to just a few titles, which I hope I’ve chosen well.
And I’d like to make one thing clear: I have nothing against the classics that intimidate me. I’m sure they’re wonderful and worthwhile books. I just don’t think they’re the right ones for me.
I raise my hands, Your Honour. I come in peace.
The classics I dream of reading
- Gone with the Wind by Margaret Mitchell: I’m curious to discover how this novel, often described as a romantic story, is actually much more than that. A historical novel, but also a sad one, full of nuance. And a proper doorstop of a book, just the kind I enjoy. I’m thinking of trying the audiobook narrated by Anna Della Rosa, which runs for an impressive 48 hours and 26 minutes at normal speed.
- The Odyssey by Homer: not because of Nolan’s film (which I don’t think I’ll see), but because of the “liberated” edition published by Blackie Edizioni. I think it would be the perfect compromise: an easier way for me to discover a story I’ve always heard about—especially during my years at classical high school—without ever really understanding it.
- Buddenbrooks by Thomas Mann: this is the second chance I want to give the German writer after failing to finish The Magic Mountain. This book promises decadence and delirium, two of my favourite words in literature.
- Dead Souls by Nikolai Gogol: the premise and the title alone are enough to intrigue me. This story promises madness and eccentricity. I couldn’t ask for more.
- Reeds in the Wind by Grazia Deledda: a journey through a Sardinia that neither forgives nor forgets. And one thing we shouldn’t forget is that Deledda won the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1926.
- Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy: yes, this is the only Russian novel I feel like including on my list. For some reason, it seems the closest to my tastes and not just because it’s a doorstop.
The classics that intimidate me
The ones I probably won’t read in the next twenty years
- To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf: the words “stream of consciousness” alone are enough to frighten me. Have I said enough?
- The Call of the Wild by Jack London: this novel makes the list because I’m a coward, not because of any merit (or lack of) on the book’s part. If animals are the main characters, I tend to stay away.
- The Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov: perhaps I’m cheating, but after reading the first few pages, I abandoned this novel without any regrets. I’m in no hurry to try again.
- Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse: for some reason, it simply doesn’t call to me.
One day, one of these books will probably end up on my bedside table or in my headphones during a lovely walk. The others will continue watching me from the shelves, waiting for better times.
Leave a Reply