Erin O’Connor writes about reading long novels, those works she says Henry James called “Loose Baggy Monsters.”
The psychology of feeling that one should, of giving it a go, of wanting it to work, of bogging down, of eventually admitting–if only to oneself–failure, and, finally, at a later date, when the frustration has faded, of doing it all again–that’s a psychology that is, I think, pretty specific to long works of fiction. They demand a lot of your time–and a lot of you. They will color your imagination and dominate your inner dream-scape while you are involved with them. Reading really long works of fiction is more than reading–it’s having a relationship. It’s not surprising that they evoke some commitment anxiety.
One of the worst cases I’ve encountered was Les Miserables. Because one character was affected by the battle of Waterloo, Hugo dedicated 100 pages to a detailed account of the battle. It was almost worse than Moby Dick.
I listened to that one in an unabridged audiobook, and I didn’t mind the Waterloo diversion, but when he began introducing Marius’ friends with lots of short details about their lives, little things they said, and little relationships they had, I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t keep the name straight, who was what type of person and whatever else, so that’s where I skipped ahead a bit. I really thought about it during the convent description, where the action screeched to a halt to give us some history of the building they were holding up in, but I suffered through it.
I’m at this point with Anna Karenina. It’s so profound! So good! Soooooo long! I want these characters to just die and have it over with (and so do they, but, no, Tolstoy drags us all onwards).
I cheated and read an abridged Les Miserables, which was awesome, even though I felt guilty for doing so. Moby Dick was horrible.
However, I loved Vanity Fair.
No, no–no guilt for you. The abridgment of Les Miserables was pure genius. I’m glad you read it.
I don’t remember where I stopped reading The Brothers Karamazov, but I want to pick it up again. It just got a bit long, you know, and the scene of dialogue I had been looking forward to was far drier than I had hoped. Maybe I’ll enjoy it better on a second read.
What’s worse? Too many characters or too much backstory?
I’ll vote for too many characters, because that’s more confusing than a long story.