“There’s a nasty word going around called ‘should’. People say you ‘should’ do this; you ‘should’ do that. Let me tell you: you don’t have to do anything they tell you to. There’s no ‘should’ about it. Do whatever you want to do. OK? Be groovy.”
Those were the last words my A-Level English Literature teacher spoke to our class. He was, as you can probably tell, an absolute tosser. Seriously, he wore bow-ties to school, incessantly preached about how much better Eastern Europe is than England (even though he’s English and only once travelled further east than Strasbourg), and he named his son Otto. But for all its pomposity, popularity-seeking “fuck the system, man” values and inexplicable use of the word “groovy”, his little valedictory speech was right about his own subject – books. You should read whatever the hell you like.
At university, you have to wade your way through a lot of books you have absolutely no desire to read. It’s a result of the University & Government Literature Initiative (UGLI). You see, any writer needs a readership, just as any drunk needs an audience (ask yourself: if a person gets drunk and nobody’s there to see him, does he sing at the top of his voice?). Published books need to sell; if they don’t, they get pulped, ala Alan Partridge’s ironically-titled autobiography, Bouncing Back. Fewer people read nowadays, meaning that fewer books are sold and so more are pulped. Pulping books costs money, which, due to the persuasive force of pulpers’ infamously strong trade unions, comes out of the Government’s pocket. The Government, reluctant to spend, comes to an agreement with universities, who agree to run courses with these books on the reading list provided the Government doesn’t knock down their buildings to build a block of flats. Everyone’s a winner. Hence, The Complete Works of Kriss Akabusi finds itself on compulsory reading lists and on the shelves of university libraries.
This is all true.
Some course books physically hurt, but, sadly, you need them to pass your course. What you read in your spare time, then, if you’re not so sick and tired of reading that the sight of a book makes you burst into tears and/or twitch convulsively, should be enjoyable; a bit of light relief. It should be something you want to read.
So don’t listen to anybody who says, “You have to read this book.” You don’t have to read it. You don’t have to read anything. I would love everyone to read James Joyce’s Ulysses, but, profoundly amazing novel though it is, I know I have a better chance of contracting syphilis from the Pope. But so what?
Students will plug their favourite book so forcefully that you’re somehow in the wrong for never having heard of it. If you read all the books that people said would “change your life”, you wouldn’t have a life to change because you’d have spent it reading. It’s a Humanities phenomenon, largely. You won’t hear many stoned Economics students at parties saying, “Seriously, man, read Adam Smith’s Wealth of Nations, it’ll blow your mind.”
The fact is, some books aren’t for everyone. That’s the problem with these ‘101 Books To Read Before You Die’ lists (other than their morbidity). It’s all very well saying Chekhov is one of the all-time greats, but his books won’t get the casual reader panting in excitement. Nothing happens. Ever. The only suspense comes from wondering when it’s going to end. And I bloody love it. I’m not saying that for kudos – who would? – but because I genuinely love reading Chekhov. I wouldn’t recommend him to anyone though.
Whatever you do, don’t read a book hating every moment but thinking you should make it to the end. That’s not what reading’s about. And don’t worry that you ‘just don’t understand’; that you’re thick; that you’re ‘wrong’. Some legendary works are simply crap. Heart of Darkness may be a ‘classic’, but – the horror! – it ain’t half dull.
If you like a book, read it. If you don’t, don’t. There’s no point wasting time with a book you’re struggling to read, let alone enjoy. I’m not saying don’t try something difficult – they’re often the most rewarding – but if you’ve tried and tried and you just can’t stand it, stop. It’ll only make you hate reading.
So give Chekhov a go, and if after 30 pages you’re giving yourself papercuts through sheer boredom, leave it and read something you like. He won’t be offended. He’s dead.
