As someone whose bag is always weighed down by whatever tome I’m currently carrying around, I’m a proud defender of big books. However, I also understand big book fear; it can be difficult to commit to a lengthy text, especially when you’re not completely sure you’ll like it.
There’s a time and place to read longer books. I’d advise against tackling one in the midst of exam season or during particularly busy periods. Choose a time when you know you can commit to this book, as you’ll get as much out of it as you put into it. I personally like to read big books over holidays, so I know I won’t get overwhelmed.
Your approach to reading big books is equally important; I believe there are two ways to go about it. The first is to devote yourself completely to the book, go into a reading frenzy. Of course, it helps if the book keeps you hooked. For this style of reading, I’d recommend something gripping: 11.22.63 by Stephen King, or if you’re more fantasy-inclined, A Game of Thrones by George R.R. Martin, a classic big book that’ll keep you invested. If you don’t want to sacrifice a few days to binge a big book, there’s something to be said about taking your time and reading slowly. I’d recommend reading shorter books alongside if you take this route, to mix things up and to avoid boredom.
Finally, I would encourage dropping a big book if you’re not enjoying it. Some see their ability to push through agonizing texts as a badge of honour, but in my opinion, doing that with long books is not worth it and a one-way ticket to developing big-book fear. It’s imperative to recognize when a book isn’t for you and know when to drop it. Reading for pleasure is supposed to be fun, and there’s nothing fun about pushing through a text you find boring, long or nonsensical. This all begs the question, does a book have to be long to be good? No, but if a book has the confidence to be long, it better be good. That being said, there is a level of intimacy with a book’s characters that sometimes can only be gained from following their journey for hundreds of pages. I think lengthy books work especially well when they’re sprawling tales of character’s lives. For example, Hanya Yanagihara’s A Little Life (which I recognize is not for everyone) manages to be so devastating because you get so attached to its characters over its eight hundred pages. In The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt, the reader accompanies Theodore from childhood to adulthood and develops a sense of affection throughout the text. These books use their length to their advantage, not only to draw the reader in but keep them there, so when you’re finished, you’re almost left with a sense of emptiness and wishing you could’ve spent just a little more time with these characters.
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