Earlier
this summer when Cindy Rollins and Angelina Stanford were interviewing me for their Literary Life podcast, I mentioned that I didn’t start reading books that were
hard for me till I was in my thirties. They asked me how I pushed through when
reading something like that, so I mentioned a fairly recent experience with Charles
Williams’ poem Taliessin Through Logres. In that case, I just kept looking for
things I was already familiar with, which helped me keep going till I’d become
familiar with Williams’ style and the general flow of the story.
I’d like
to share some other strategies I’ve used over the years.
About a
decade ago I decided to get better acquainted with Flannery O’Connor’s stories.
Up until then I’d only read her short story, “Revelation,” but I’d read it many
times, first in high school and then again every few years to see if it turned
out any better, by which I mean, to see whether I could get to the end of the
story without the bad guy turning out to be ME. Our library had the huge
Collected Works of Flannery O’Connor—short stories, novels, essays, letters—so I started
reading the fiction, and when it got too dark and difficult, I’d take a break by reading the
non-fiction. Her essays are so thoughtful and her letters are delightful,
sometimes hilarious, sometimes tragic, and I found that getting to know the
author as a person made reading her stories easier.
Another
thing that has made it easier to persevere though hard books is reading and
discussing them with friends, whether this happens in person or over the internet.
I read Homer and Virgil and Ovid this way, and am currently working through
Plato’s Republic with friends. Knowing we’re going to meet on a certain day,
and that my friends will have read the next section, and that they will
definitely have interesting things to share about it is very motivating for me!
This one
may come as a surprise, but reading aloud to my children has gotten me
through some hard things that I had tried and failed to read alone. William
Langland’s Piers Plowman, and Edmund Spenser’s Faerie Queene fall into this
category. I read Langland to my older set when they were in high school, but I
started Spenser with my younger set much earlier, so I had to do some
groundwork before reading the unabridged poem, but knowing that they loved the story and were waiting for the next canto, and sharing their delight in
the story, helped me keep doing my part.
This next
example is kind of hard to categorize, but maybe I should call it comparing the hard book to something else I already know and love. C.S. Lewis’s
Abolition of Man was like this for me. I tried several times to read it and
just could not comprehend what he was talking about, and always gave up before
I’d gotten even half way through it. But one day when I picked up That Hideous
Strength to read for the umpteenth time, I happened to notice the words “Abolition
of Man” in the Preface. I don’t think I’d ever read the Preface before, and I
was surprised to read, “This is a ‘tall story’ about devilry, though it has
behind it a serious ‘point’ which I have tried to make in my Abolition of Man.”
This drove me back into that book and finally I could see what he was talking
about in there, since I already knew what it looked like from That Hideous
Strength.
How
about you? How do you manage to read hard books?
Nice tips!
ReplyDeleteI know you do this too- I take notes. I don't even always go back to them; just the act of writing the note makes a difference in how well I comprehend and remember the text. But I keep the notes, and then sometimes I hit an idea or phrase in another book that reminds me of the first one, and then it's so satisfying to be able to go back and take a look and think it all through with the new information or idea.
And if it's really difficult, I read very small sections at a time, and sometimes read them more than once. (even if the text isn't difficult, but just B O R I N G, a least I'm making some progress- and eventually I hit a more interesting bit and can sustain reading for longer periods.
That's true! Common placing is a kind of note-taking, too. When I'm listening to an audio book that's hard to follow, I'll do a written narration at the end of each chapter (or canto, as in the case of Orlando Furioso, which is my current Hard Book).
DeleteHere's the end parenthesis: )
ReplyDeleteLOL