I’m woefully under-read. Don’t get me wrong: I read a lot – two to three books a week on average. But when it comes to the classics, those books that most people are forced to read in high school and college, I’m way behind the curve.
When I was in school, it was considered very passé to read the works of Dead White Men. Other than one token Shakespeare unit a year, my progressively-minded teachers consciously ignored Fitzgerald, Orwell, Faulkner, James, Forster and Hemingway.
I’ve decided to remedy this literary deficiency by starting the Reading Project. Over the next year, I’m going to read fifty classic novels. I have two rules for choosing a book: (1) it must appear on one of the following lists of top books: Time Magazine, Modern Book Library, The Guardian, or received a grade of A or higher from The Brothers Judd, and (2) it must be a book that I haven’t read already. I’ll keep a running blog of my progress, including a review of each book right here.
Since yesterday was my birthday (I turned 34, thus officially entering my mid-30’s), this seems like a good starting point. Fifty books in fifty-two weeks . . . no problem, right?
First up: Brave New World by Aldous Huxley. Although George confessed that he’s written all over the margins of our copy, and he’s sure his notes are going to irritate me. He’s probably right.
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