Last night, I went to the bookstore in search of some much needed book shopping therapy after a stressful few weeks. I was delighted to find that the store was actually a five minute drive from my new place, but then again it was 8:00 at night. As I perused the aisles in search of interesting stories, I came across a lesser known book by Charles Dickens called Our Mutual Friend. I was a little wary upon opening the book what the opening lines would read like. I remembered having to read A Tale of Two Cities in high school and it absolutely boring me. Of course, I didn’t get into the classics until the very end of my senior year of high school, but I’ve always had that sore-eyed impression from Cities and Great Expectations to make Dickens a scarce visitor on my bookshelves. It didn’t start off badly, however. I was expecting the opening lines to be a string of ridiculously long sentences with intricate grammatical ambitions that, instead of making me swoon over the beauty of the language, would just make me want to rub my eyes and go read Twilight. Thankfully, that didn’t happen. I was actually intrigued by the opening paragraph, so I cradled the book in my arms and continued walking down the aisle in search of more books.
In the middle of the store, I noticed a table set up of books labeled “Good Fiction Reads.” Most of the books on the table I’d either already read and loved or had been wanting to read for a while. “Olive Kitteridge, Joy Luck Club, The Handmaid’s Tale, The Tea Rose…” I picked them up, one by one, a little voice in the back of my head insisting I put them back immediately before I get myself in worse debt book shopping than I did attending college. But I couldn’t. I’d been wanting to read these books for a long time, and as I grazed the table for more “Good Fiction Reads,” I had the urge to just pile the whole lot into my arms. But, at a certain point, I looked down at my load and realized I couldn’t by them ALL. That’s when I ran into my dilemma.
You see, a few weeks ago, I came across an article arguing the decreasing importance of classic novels to aspiring writers. The writer claimed that most writers are studying the writing of their peers, trying to see what the competition is like today. When I first read the article, I thought, “Nonsense! Classic novels are still totally important!” After all, Jane Eyre is one of my favorites. But then as I found myself aching to put back the Dickens novel so I could buy the “Great Fiction Reads” books from the table, I wondered if the writer of the article had a point. I’m an aspiring writer, and what was I buying? Recent literary bestsellers of at least the last few decades, not Dickens. Now, one may argue that my choice in classic literature last night could’ve been better, that Dickens is naturally a bore, and doesn’t do much even for the seasoned critic of classic literature, but it made me sad that his was the book I decided…wanted to put back. Shouldn’t I be reading classic literature to lay a foundation for myself as a writer of new literature?
I really do love classic literature. I think it’s still relevant and important and has a lot to teach us, not just about writing and laying foundations, but about life and our past triumphs and how much the world has grown and changed since those novels were written. Classic novels give us perspective. I think the biggest reason why I put Dickens back on the shelf is not because I didn’t think I would like it, but because I didn’t think I would understand it, and I have an affinity lately for wanting to read bestselling literary novels that get attention with writing communities such as Poets & Writers or She Writes or L.A. Review of Books and whatnot. It’s almost like that article tapped into my subconscious and made me believe the writer’s argument without my noticing. But suddenly I’ve feared that I won’t be able to write anything great until I read classic novels, understand them, know their ins and outs. I think the real issue here is that books are being published left, right, up, down, and sideways these days, and I’m inwardly freaking out, because I know I won’t be able to read ALL THE BOOKS. And I want to read ALL THE BOOKS! I tried to reason with myself that I could just read the classics from the library or on my iPad, because most of them are free as e-books and they are definitely free at the library, but I still maintain that books, especially classic books, just aren’t read the same on an e-reader. But, I’m just a book snob, so…
Do you have this problem? Do you feel like you should be reading the classics, but are more concerned with literature being published today? Do you fear, as a writer, that you won’t write anything good without the foundation of classic novels under your belt as a reader and critic?
