In my Impromptus today, I begin with the Trump show, or at least one aspect of it: Two of his guests at his rally in the Bronx were rappers with rap sheets. I also touch on the British election, the Z-word (“Zionism”), Mick Jagger, Bill Walton, etc. Here it is.

On Tuesday, I had a column called “Great and Unread.” I had asked readers, “What books, especially classic ones, have you been unable to finish, unable to persevere in?” Some further mail is in order. A reader writes,

Happy Tuesday, Jay!

I missed the original call for examples, but as I lingered over a cup of coffee and “Great and Unread” this morning, I wanted to drop you a note.

I was assigned Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky in college. Consistent with my slacker approach to most things in life in my early twenties, I used a combination of CliffsNotes, discussions with friends, and my innate talent for . . . embellishment to get through those classes.

I have made multiple attempts since that time to read a Tolstoy or Dostoevsky. I’ve tried reading a chapter synopsis and then reading the chapter of the book; reading aloud or listening; taking notes or summarizing as I read; designing a quiz for each chapter. I even stopped trying to pronounce the names. I simply went with my “Georgia phonics” instincts.

Never made it to 100 pages.

But the moment I gave up was on a train from D.C. to New York.

My sister had died the prior year, and my twelve-year-old son suggested that I read The Brothers Karamazov and gave me his copy by his favorite translator*. He said, “I thought reading this might help you with your grief stuff.” How could any mother not persist?!

I sat in the Quiet Car, I put classical music in my headphones, I began. I skipped some chapters and tried again. I thought about my son’s face and words. About an hour into the trip and the book, I ordered a drink and e-mailed my son thanking him for caring enough to recommend a favorite author, but I could not make it happen.

That day, I swore off Russian fiction for good.

My son is 23 and we still laugh about it.

Thank you for all the work that goes into sharing your ideas and perspectives with NR readers!

*Yes, because God has a sense of humor, our older son loves Tolstoy and Dostoevsky, and he loves language enough to have a favorite translator. He ended up going to St. John’s College in Annapolis, which was an ideal fit!

A reader writes,

I am trying to read Edward Gibbon’s History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, David Womersley edition. Not easy. Can you point the way to someone or something that can help me? I am 71 years of age but still need help. Thank you.

Hmmm. In a 2020 essay (“Staggering Cornucopias”), I wrote,

. . . have you ever read the Decline and Fall? By acclamation, one of the greatest works of history ever written? For decades, I have owned an abridged, one-volume edition. I have read in it, but not through it. Someday?

George Will let me know that Gibbon is really not to be missed. We should read his history, “including the footnotes, where his wit shines.” Exhibit A: the footnote on giraffes.

Here it is:

Commodus killed a camelopardalis or Giraffe, the tallest, the most gentle, and the most useless of the large quadrupeds. This singular animal, a native only of the interior parts of Africa, has not been seen in Europe since the revival of letters; and though M. de Buffon (Hist. Naturelle, tom. xiii.) has endeavored to describe, he has not ventured to delineate, the Giraffe.

Finally, a reader writes,

Loved the column on books unread. For me that was Middlemarch. For YEARS it sat on my bedside table, taunting me with its size and fancy cover, and every so often I would open it, start it, read the opening few pages, put it down, and then repeat it all six months later.

Until . . .

Last summer, I left my company (or my company left me) and I had time and a trip planned to London where I would stay with friends who, coincidentally, lived across the street from the cemetery where George Eliot is buried. Just the inspiration I needed. So I committed to reading the book by any means necessary in time to read the final chapter on my last day at her tomb in Highgate Cemetery. And so I did! And my friend Paul memorialized it with a sketch.

It’s one of the best novels I’ve read and I look forward to re-reading it. Just have to get through Ulysses first . . .

The sketch: