I may be dating myself but there was a stigma and a shame associated with giving up on a book, especially a classic, without trying to finish it any way possible. Even though reading is a hobby that should be enjoyable, bookish people will force read multiple books a year out of some unwritten rule that you cannot give an opinion on a book's quality unless you have read the full story.
I lived by this truth for most of my life. As a voracious reader, as an English major, and well into my first job in a library, I felt DNF(*)'ing a book, especially a classic, was sacrilegious. Who was I to question the quality of a classic? I love most genres of novels, so I can usually find the good in most books, but there is the rare book that I just cannot, no matter what I do, locate the good.
This leads to this entry. When I decided to start this blog, I had some free time on my hands and a longing to return to classic novels. In my undergrad, I did not focus on any one time period. I read classics from all around the world by all genders and persuasions. It was a rare occasion that I could find a book that I did not like in some regard.
Since it was a fall and I usually do a re-read of Jane Eyre in the fall, I thought beginning with the Brontës was a great idea. There was just one issue, Wuthering Heights. This novel has been a thorn in my side for a long time. I have attempted to read it many times, never enjoying the experience once. My brain has rejected this novel multiple times at different periods in my life.
I first read Wuthering Heights when I was fourteen. My sister, who is 3 years older than me, was reading it for her high school class. Back then, I would read the books she was reading for class because they were more challenging than my own curriculum. I was very excited to read WH, as it had a reputation as a dark and brooding novel, and I was a baby goth reaching for literature I could relate to.
What I found was that something that is deemed a classic, can also not be enjoyable. I naively believed that if something is a classic, and in a genre you love, dislike is rare. I blamed myself. Maybe I did not get it? Maybe it was too advanced? I was not sure, so I just kept my dislike to myself and moved on to the next book.
Of course, she would rear her ugly head again in college. I dutifully read the novel and analyzed it appropriately. I received my grades happily, but I was let down. I had convinced myself I had been too young to read the book in high school, but when I read it in college, I still did not enjoy the book. How could that be? I loved women writers who broke the mold, but WH just did not hit.
So I went on my way, free from the book and going about my life. Then I became a librarian and discovered that I was the only one who hated this book. Every time I would confess I did not like it, I would get incredulous stares of confusion. I felt like I was somehow letting down my profession because I hated a classic.
So I decided to try it one more time, in good faith. I hoped the deadline of the blog would force me to read it quickly and finish it. As soon as I picked up the book, I knew my feelings had not changed. If anything, my tolerance for the book's characters and melodrama were lower. As the month went on, I found any excuse to avoid the book and the blog post.
In the past few years, I have begun allowing myself the indulgence as a reader to DNF when a book is a slog or was not what it claimed to be. Now that I am old enough to know that it's ok, I exercise the right, rarely. As we entered the beginning of October and I still had not finished the book, I made the decision to DNF it and move on to October's readings.
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