Why Are The Classics So Hard To Read?

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(1) The Idea: Stop Focusing On The Plot

Today, I’m going to put my literature major hat on and resolve a common struggle when people get into the classics: the stories make no sense.

The most famous example of this is a one-star review of Pride and Prejudice by a certain Mr Carlton B. Morgan, where he lamented:

“[The book is] just a bunch of people going to each other’s houses.”

 With the same logic, a lot of our beloved classics also assume this seemingly absurd baseline plot:

In Search of Lost Time: 4000 pages of a French boy’s meanderings on cakes and church steeples.

Metamorphosis: Man turns into a cockroach/beetle.

Ulysses: Husband refusing to go home because his wife is f*king someone else.

There’s a problem here. If we judge every story with the expectation of how enticing the plot is, then all of the titles above will be chucked out of the window after 30 pages. There seems to be a deeper dimension to these seemingly simplistic plots, but upon our first readings, all we’re getting is a series of events that seem to make no sense.  

This brings me to a key idea that’ll forever change what you expect out of reading a classic, and I’m going to steal it from James Wood:

“Plot is reading, form is literary criticism.”

To put it simply, getting the most out of literature is a two-step operation.

1: Reading the plot.

2: Getting beyond the plot and asking: how the f*k did they do that?

In a sense, your first reading, as a word of assurance, is supposed to be all over the place. You won’t know why rich people are going to each other’s houses. You won’t see the significance of Proust having a breakdown over a cup of tea, and you’ll think that spending 60 pages on a cockroach is ridiculous. This is when you’ll wonder: what the hell did I just read? and proceed to label literature psychobabbles for the eternal snobs. Hold your horses, because we’re only halfway there.

The second reading is where all the magic happens because our familiarity with the plot allows us to pay attention to the form itself. Take Metamorphosis by Kafka, for instance. Most people think it’s dry, absurd and a bit too long for what it is. I thought so too when I read it a few years ago, but after I re-read it again this week, I couldn’t help but see a twisted humour in Kafka’s writing. The best analogy I have for it is that clip of an English guy getting into a car accident. After his car flipped over, he simply sat there and said, “Oh, well, that was fucking scary". There’s a mismatch between the dry, monotoned prose and the outrageous events in the story, and apart from all the depressing details of familial exile, hopelessness and death in Metamorphosis, there’s also a piercing wit that made me laugh.

In other words, a confusing first-encounter with the story is a prerequisite for a deeper reading later on, because the plot is merely the pastry that wraps up a delicious pie. It looks a little plain, yet it’s enticing enough for us to buy it from the bakery. But the real sweetness usually hits us after we’ve worked towards the filling of the pie. Same with reading a story that initially confuses us. If we treat it with enough patience and commit to a second reading, then the real magic of language will reveal itself to us beyond bland summaries and go-ahead plots.

I’ll end this post with an objection: what if reading something twice takes too long? Well, let me ask you this: why is it the case that we have no problem re-listening to the same album or watching the same movie every Christmas? And why shouldn’t the same principle apply to re-reading books? In reality, you’ll not re-read something right after a first reading. You’ll read it, get confused, forget about it, and something will remind you of it again. Then, you’ll pick it up, marvel at how much of an idiot you were during your first reading and appreciate the story even more.

In the end, literature shouldn't be items to check off a TBR out of obligation. It should be a life-enhancing hobby that offers us a window on the world. And perhaps, after re-reading a few stories that used to be bland and tedious, we’ll start to grasp the parallels between literature and life: the juice of life isn’t in the major plot points of our life stories, but everything that happens in the gaps of the seemingly mundane.

(2) The Prompts

1: Find a short story that you’ve read before and re-read it. Make a few notes on how different the story feels to you during a second reading. Has the form of the story revealed itself to you? Is the voice of the author more compelling? And how does it compare to your first plot-based reading?

2:  When you read something new, don’t let the plot stop you. Practice surrendering to uncertainty and try to immerse yourself in the world of a story. Remember, the first reading is just the pre-requisite for a more profound reading later on. Enjoy the confusion and trust that if the story’s meant for you, it’ll demand a second reading eventually.