Book #3: Catch-22

Whenever I read a book that has been deemed a classic, I want to read that book and immediately understand why it’s a classic. I want to love that book. I want that book to change my life. I don’t want to listen to any arguments about why listing any book as a classic is a bad idea. These are books I judge not by their covers, but by their reputations. Once named a classic, even by obscure organizations or publications, I feel the need to consume the item.

Recently I finished up “Catch-22” by Joseph Heller. Widely hailed as a classic. Selected by my office book club by popular vote. Staring me down at bookstores everywhere. I wanted to read this book, and I wanted to like this book. But I just did not. I’m kinda amazed that I even finished this book.

Now, I knew going in to reading this book that it’s something of a dude book, the way ladies have their chick lit and whatnot. And I knew it was about how ridiculous war is. But I didn’t expect the book to be that ridiculous. I know that’s the point, but still. The only way I got through this book was by essentially skimming the dialogue and not caring too much about which character was which. Now, certainly, there were passages in the novel that I could latch onto and ride with, but they didn’t add up to a larger experience for me.

But you know, certain things in real life have lately just seemed very absurd to me. So maybe I didn’t need a literary reminder that life in any time, in any circumstance, is merely ridiculous and meaningless, and there’s nothing to be done about it. Maybe it was too much salt in a wound.