I’ve never been able to finish it. The vocabulary, I can handle. But it’s just so sloooooow.
It also bounces around between first-person characters.
I finished it last night.
But the writing is so much better than Dracula.
That’s one I could not get through.
So I tried the movie, and couldn’t get through that either.
Good, it’s not just me. I tried, Mr. Stoker. I tried.
Pretty much every doorstop book I’ve tried to read, I failed to finish, except The Stand and Bleak House.
I remember trying to read War and Peace as a high school freshman. Like, for no reason. I didn’t have a prayer.
I took a class where we read George Eliot’s Adam Bede, The Mill on the Floss, Silas Marner, Romola, Middlemarch, and Daniel Deronda. That was one a week, with the other weeks devoted to Virginia Woolf. I enjoyed it, but sitting still reading that long at a pop gave me shoulder issues that took the rest of the year to resolve.
I’m curious how you would rank them. (And impressed that you got through MIddlemarch in a week.)
I liked them all. Daniel Deronda was surprisingly interesting. I don’t know if I could rank the rest of them this many years later, though I do remember thinking Adam Bede was weaker. I’ve never read Felix Holt or Scenes of Cletical Life.
I remember liking Silas Marner and (to a lesser extent) Mill on the Floss. Middlemarch was OK, but I found some storylines kind of dull. Daniel Deronda I liked the least; the character of Daniel was pretty boring and his story seemed unconvincing to me.
The Red Badge of Courage ‘The Youth’. Ugh. -shudder-
I remember finding Main Street by Sinclair Lewis to be an exceptional slog to make it through. It’s just hundreds and hundreds of pages of nothing interesting going on. Lewis wanted to make small-town life look miserable, and he did a hell of a job!
As soon as I saw this thread title I thought of this. It’s only what 80 pages? But literally NOTHING happens over those 80 pages. Spoiler: A fish pulls the old man in the boat for 80 pages!!!
The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros
It’s a semi-autobiographical book about a young Mexican-American girl growing up in Chicago, told via a series of vignettes.
My major problem with the story is that vignettes aren’t the most interesting way to portray the life of a fictional character. It’s just a series of random events including a chapter where out of nowhere it just starts with her getting sexually assaulted. Then immediately a chapter of her making tacos with her family. I wish the story had a structure to it because at least the lead up to it would be much more powerful. Like I only still remember those chapters because of how out-of-nowhere it was.