III-4. Topics of Aristotle

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The Topics is Aristotle’s work on dialectical argument, and is generally less read than other works in the Organon (such as Categories and Posterior Analytics). The work is not about demonstration, but about arguments that take place in the course of a conversation. Instead of starting from certain first principles, arguments of this sort take their starting point from statements that are held by all, by the majority, or by the learned. Aristotle identifies four different areas where arguments can occur about a subject: its definition, its genus, its properties, its accidents.

Definition and genus both pertain to the essence of a thing, what it is. Property and accident are not part of the essence of a thing but belong to a thing: a property belongs to something essentially (it belongs to a man in virtue of his essence that is capable of laughter) whereas an accident does not. These are places (topika in Greek) around which arguments will take place.

The entire work is eight books long. The first book is introductory, looking at the sorts of premises that can be taken up in this work. He even acknowledges that it is possible to arrive at better definitions than he does, but that it is fine since the sorts of things he is talking about are approximate. The next six books then go through the sorts of rules that one should keep in mind when arguing about genus or definition or property or accident. A lot of these have to do with contraries. (It’s hard to think of examples off the top of my head.) To take a simple example, when considering whether something is correctly defined, look to see whether there is anything the definition should apply but does not, or anything that the definition does apply to but should not. When it comes to genus, how it is important to have the lowest possible genus, as this will also include all the higher genera, but not vice-versa. He clarifies that the rules he lays down are sometimes universally applicable, but sometimes only guides.

The final book deals with how to actually carry on arguments. He speaks of the sorts of propositions that should be conceded to an opponent, and which should not. He talks about how there are modes of dialectic that are aimed at arriving at the truth, but others in which one is simply trying to win a contest. In attempting to win a contest, it is better to try and have your opponent concede points that seem far removed from the matter at hand, since they are unlikely to admit something that is directly related to what is being proven. He speaks of “begging the question” as asking your opponent to admit a proposition that is identical or basically identical to the matter which is in dispute. Perhaps most importantly, he states that it is not wise to try to argue with just anyone on the street, or in a group of people, because in settings like this, people will often jump into using contentious arguments, and the whole discussion becomes fruitless.

If someone is going to engage in dialectic frequently, it is important to have arguments ready for the most common points of dispute, and also to have an arsenal of definitions for when it is likely that someone is going to use an ambiguous term. I was surprised that some of these tips for dialectic also appear at the beginning of the Cursus Philosophicus by John of St. Thomas. There he talks about how one says “I accept the minor” or “I deny the major” when arguing with someone; or one can say “I distinguish the major” when an ambiguous term is used, and then determine whether one accepts or rejects it according to which definition is meant.

Unlike the other works of the Organon, I think this one works fairly well as an audiobook. Though one could take out a notebook and diagram the sorts of rules and how they apply to each topic, it is practically more important to be able simply to recognize what is happening in an argument, and to uncover misleading steps.

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For these posts, I will set a 10-minute timer and then write what I can for that time.

See also: A third round of classics

IV-4. Posterior Analytics

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I am very glad to finish the Posterior Analytics, since this means the next work in the sequence is the Topics, a work I never read in its entirety.

The present work is about demonstrative argument. Whereas the Prior Analytics went through the valid forms of argument, the sorts of syllogism that necessarily arrive at a conclusion; the Posterior Analytics is about the sort of argument that arrives at scientific knowledge. Aristotle begins with a definition of knowledge. We know something when we know the cause of that thing and that it is the cause of that thing. In a syllogism (say, A is B, B is C, therefore A is C), it is the middle term which is the cause. We really know something when we know exactly what it is that joins A to C.

The example that comes to mind (which Aristotle uses) is an eclipse. Let A be moon, B be the interposition of the earth, and C be eclipsed. We know that the moon is eclipsed when the earth is positioned between the sun and the moon. This is what those who are seeking to know are looking for: the cause that joins the two terms together.

Another consideration in this book is whether definitions can be proven. He talks about the importance of whether the subject of a science exists. Though one can give a definition in the sense of telling what the meaning of the words are (for example, one can explain what non-existence is, but this does not correspond to something in reality), a definition tells the essence of the thing defined. This means that only actually existing things can have a definition.

I must say that the Posterior Analytics (like Aristotle’s other logical work) is not a good book for listening to on audio. There were times I paused and just thought, “Now is that true? How do I know it to be so?” But then the work would keep on charging forward, whether I had completely grasped the matter or not.

In the end, the Posterior Analytics is all about one sort of argument. This sort is especially strong in mathematics, and will be helpful when arguing with a certain sort of person. But the Topics will consider a different sort of argument.

For these posts, I will set a 10-minute timer and then write what I can in that time. This work was not on my original list, but will be included on another list.

IV-3. Prior Analytics

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I promise I am reading and listening to various authors, but apparently I am more consistent with my Aristotle audiobook, and so the next completed title here is his Prior Analytics. This continues his logical work, and this time focuses on the syllogism. In this work, he lays out every possible figure of argument, explains how we know them to be true and shows what sorts of conclusions can be reached and why. Though it is very uninteresting on some level (I was listening to this audiobook while giving someone a ride, and had to apologize for the dryness of it), it is also remarkable because of what it is. As far as I know, no one had organized a science of this sort before. Aristotle not only invents this science, but he even seems to perfect it. This is a remarkable feat.

So, what are these syllogisms? They are formed by bringing together two premises from which a third necessarily follows. There is a minor term (which has something said about it), a major term (which is said about something), and a middle term between them (which is both subject and predicate). The first figure is formed by having the middle serve as subject and predicate in the two premises. All A is B. All B is C. Therefore, all A is C. Changing the premises, the four possible conclusions are: All A is C; No A is C; Some A is C; Some A is not C.

The second figure has the middle term predicated of two different subjects. These can only result in a negative conclusion. All A is B. No C is B. Therefore, no A is C. This works because universal negative propositions are wholly convertible.

The third figure has the middle term as the subject of two different predicates. All B is A. All B is C. Therefore, some A is C. This works because universal affirmative propositions are convertible into particular affirmative propositions.

From this (very brief) overview, it appears that the second and third figures are valid only on account of being reducible to the first figure. It is in the first figure that we see that the relationship between the major and minor is known through the middle, and that this relationship bears some relationship to that of parts and wholes.

Aristotle does not only lay out these forms of syllogism, but he considers necessary and possible modalities of these syllogisms, looks at how more than three terms can be related, and in the end looks at other (less perfect) forms of argument, such as enthymemes and examples.

For these posts, I will set a 10-minute timer and then write what I can in that time. This work was not on my original list, but will be included on another list.

IV-2. On Interpretation

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After the Categories of Aristotle, which is on the term, comes the On Interpretation, which is on the proposition. Overall, the work is less interesting than the work before it. Whereas the Categories begin to talk about actual things (substance, quantity, quality, relation, and so on), On Interpretation really does stay mostly with just propositions. A is B. It considers what statements are contrary or contradictory to other statements. What is the opposite of “A is B”? Is it “A is not B” or “Not-A is B”? It talks about nouns and verbs, and it also mentions that words signify by convention (against the thesis of Plato’s Cratylus, which attempted to show that every word down to its letters has some sort of natural reason for signifying what it does).

Perhaps the most memorable discussion in the work (though I can’t remember the conclusion) has to do with propositions about the future. Here is the issue: Every proposition is either true or false. For example, “Socrates is sitting.” Either he is or he isn’t (unless he doesn’t exist, in which case it is not true to say he is sitting or that he is not sitting, to the extent that it implies he is at all). He can be sitting one moment and stand up the next, but at any given time, the statement is true or false.

So what about something that hasn’t happened yet? “There will be a ship battle tomorrow.” Is this a true or false statement? Now, it is indeed the case that there either will be or won’t be a ship battle tomorrow. But as long as we remain in the present and there are no necessary causes, this is a proposition that in the present is neither true nor false. Now this is due to the uncertain nature of whether ship battles are going to happen. If we were to say something like “The sun will rise tomorrow,” then this is less contingent of a statement. Unless one is particularly pessimistic about the stability of the cosmos, one can venture to say that this is a true proposition.

This question about whether all propositions about the future can be true or false becomes important when considering that there is a God who is eternal and so, it would seem, knows without fail that there either will or will not be a ship battle tomorrow. And if this is so, the question can then be asked: Is it really a contingent event? If God knows it (say to be true), then it is certain, and so it will happen. (Then again, God’s knowledge is not caused by things, rather it is the reverse.)

Anyway, it is a short text, but that is what stands out from it.

For these posts, I will set a 10-minute timer and then write what I can in that time. This work was not on my original list, but will be included on another list.

IV-1. Categories of Aristotle

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In the past, I have made a list of 50 classics I intend to read. Inevitably, I will read classics other than the ones on the list and just count those towards the 50. Well, this time I want to keep my list of 50 intact. And yet, I don’t want to prevent myself from reading things beyond the list, or give myself an excuse to not write about those books that I read. So I will go ahead and start another list, but I will not make it ahead of time. Once I hit 50 books from beyond the list, I will make a post to gather those up.

One of the works of Aristotle I have never read completely or closely is his Topics, which is about dialectical argument. Having recently finished the audio for his Metaphysics, and finding that I was reasonably able to follow it by hearing, I decided to look for the Topics as well. What I found was an audiobook for the entire Organon, so I figured it was worth listening to the whole thing from the beginning.

The first work of the Organon is the Categories. This work is about the terms contained in a proposition. The next work, On Interpretation, is about the propositions themselves. Then the Prior Analytics is about what sorts of propositions necessarily lead to conclusions, especially in the form of a syllogism. Then the Posterior Analytics is about what sorts of syllogisms cause knowledge. And after all of that is the Topics, about dialectical argument, and Sophistical Refutations, which is about specious arguments.

The Categories is one of Aristotle’s shortest works and seems simple. The first paragraphs of the work are about how sometimes one word can have two different meanings. And yet even the example he gives shows that there is more to it. As an example, he says that the word “animal” can be said of both a man and a picture of a man, and that it means something different in each case. Now the example is strange in that it is not the plainest example: for example, “bat” is a word that can refer to either a flying mammal or a wooden object. That is a much clearer case. But Aristotle gives the example he gives because it is a case where someone is more likely to make an error or fall for a trick in reasoning. In his eventual critique of Plato’s views, he will point out this sort of equivocation in order to make his refutation.

Another question that arises in the early chapters of the Categories is exactly what he is talking about. Is it words? Is it ideas? Is it things? Words or ideas seem like the most plausible answer at first, but closely reading the first couple chapters, he seems to be talking about things. He is talking at some point about the sort of thing which is exists in a thing and is not said of it (for example, the color of a particular apple). It is not the word “red” or the idea of red that exists in an apple. It is actually some concrete instance of redness that exists in some actual particular apple. This then has some connection to how we think or speak about these things, but at least in the earliest chapters, he seems to be focusing on things as they are.

I had way more thoughts about the Categories, but my timer went off, so that’s it.

For these posts, I will set a 10-minute timer and then write what I can for that time. This work was not on my original list, but will be included on another list.

III-3. The Corner That Held Them

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This is my second book by Sylvia Townsend Warner on the list, and it is a very different setting than the other one: It is about English nuns in the 14th century. The book covers a number of generations, and so it feels something like Bridge on the River Drina, which covers 300 years of time and is unified by its location around a single bridge.

When I mention this book to others, they usually ask if it is anything like In This House of Brede by Rumer Godden. It’s a reasonable comparison, but I would say this book is much less reverent. Townsend Warner certainly knows her subject: It is not a caricature of the Middle Ages, as I have heard some people describe the work of Ken Follett (I have not read him myself, but readers say that it does not seem authentically medieval). Townsend Warner understands what matters in the faith, and also how certain things can be distorted into superstition when poorly understood. Early on, there is a discussion about how the sacraments work ex opere operato, and albeit a bit one-sided, there is no plain error in the way the characters describe this reality. And then shows up a man who presents himself as a priest, though he is not, and we see how this plays out in the novel, how a conscience is tormented by knowing that the “sacraments” performed are invalid, and also the danger of scandal if the matter were to be investigated and made known. All of this takes place according to a view of the world that takes for granted the features of the faith and the efficacy of the sacraments.

One reason why Townsend Warner can “get away” with so much of what seems irreverent is that that she is writing about one of the most difficult periods in the history of Europe: the Black Death in the 14th century. Just think of The Seventh Seal or the end of Kristin Lavransdatter. Was it half of Europe that was wiped out by this plague? And so we see people that are trying to keep on living while society is broken up all around, economically and otherwise.

Though the language is beautiful, the setting is well-considered, and the people and scenarios are comical, I don’t think I will go back to this one for a while. In the end, it seems everything is reduced to absurdity. Whether it is the aspiration to make a tower or a supposed apparition encouraging someone to an austere mode of life, everyone ends up looking silly by the end of the novel. This is very different from In This House of Brede, where one gets a depiction of sincere religious motives and how they overcome circumstance and everyday human weakness. The one is a religious novel, whereas the other is a comedy in a religious setting. This was also an audiobook I listened to rather than read, so it is possible that some of its meaning was lost on account of that.

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For these posts, I will set a 10-minute timer and then write what I can for that time.

See also: A third round of classics

III-2. Mrs. Dalloway (again)

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This was not my first time going through Mrs. Dalloway, but I was prompted to pick it up by a couple circumstances. One was seeing a friend recently accumulate and read many books on Virginia Woolf. What was so excellent about her that she deserved so much attention?? So this caught my interest. Then, there was an argument on Substack about her merits. One person posted a note that basically said she was not worth reading at all, and recommended Three Guineas only so that someone could confirm this fact and move on. This note invited many responses, full of praise of Woolf and criticism for the author of that note.

I myself did not enjoy Mrs. Dalloway very much and I remembered almost nothing about it. A woman looking for flowers was about all I could recall. When someone mentioned in a comment about the love interests of Clarissa, I could not remember one bit of it. So I decided to revisit the book, this time just listening to it on audio.

In general, my impression is not all that different. I reviewed my original post a few days ago, and some of the words that struck me as odd back then (“oilily” and “uglily”) stood out to me again! In my earlier post, I paid attention to the godlessness of the book. Now I paid a bit more attention to what was beautiful. There is one spot where Clarissa is reflecting on her parties and how these were a sort of offering to life itself. I thought this was a very beautiful was of describing it, and she compared it to the sorts of things that men do and say, “you couldn’t possibly understand.” The very best things in life are not done for the sake of something else, but are truly excellent on their own account.

That being said, there is so much that is awful. There is that man Septimus who wants to end his own life. For most of the book, these seem to be two entirely separate stories: Clarissa and her party and the preparations for it; Septimus and Lucrezia and their difficulties. But they come together when someone brings up the death of Septimus at Clarissa’s party, and she is offended! How could someone bring up such a subject here? Though she herself seems to feel guilty because of it. Not that she caused it in anyway, but there was some perception of the wrongness of her in finery while such a tragedy is going on in the world.

While I was listening to the audiobook, it ended so suddenly. How did it end? I had to open the text itself and reread the last few pages to make sure I had got the ending. As I did this, I felt right away that reading the text would have been a different experience than hearing it read (however good of a job the reader of the audiobook did).

It is still not a favorite. Most of the people on Substack were going on and on about the language in Mrs. Dalloway. But as for the actual story and narrative, I do not find it satisfying. (Maybe this is intentional.) The characters are entirely unlikeable and largely hopeless. I bet there is plenty of structure there if I sat down and spelled it out, but with so many other texts out there, I am not sure this one merits it. I may be wrong! Anyway, I still have two more Woolf titles on my list (The Common Reader and To the Lighthouse), so these will add to my opinion.

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For these posts, I will set a 10-minute timer and then write what I can for that time.

See also: A third round of classics

III-1. The Kingdoms of Elfin

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The Kingdoms of Elfin by Sylvia Townsend Warner is the first book I have finished off of my third list of classics. I first saw the book when I was at a friends house. It had a such a quaint title, promising fantasy and monarchy, and then I read the first page. It was about a child being abducted, having its blood drained out and replaced with ichor. Imbued with ichor, the child would have increased longevity, and therefore would serve many years as a plaything for the fairies.

How horrifying! It was nothing like Harry Potter, but it was fascinating. My friend lent me the book on the spot, and the more I read it, the more it makes sense to contrast it with Harry Potter. Harry Potter is a contemporary novel in every way. Yes, there wizards and what-not, but they don’t use wizards or magic in ways other than people in our contemporary world would. There are some accents perhaps, but everyone there thinks and talks like anyone you might meet in the world.

Not so in The Kingdoms of Elfin. There is an entirely other philosophy of life. Time is different. Amusement takes on a more important and ritual character. Features of religion are taken for granted, even though the fairies (as a rule) do not have any faith. There is a whole story that turns around “heretic” who believes that there are such things as souls. There are fairies who become fascinated by a certain preacher and hang on his every word. There is a group of fairies who run off and start a cult at which a triangle is placed at the center.

The book becomes most interesting when the fairies are set aside humans and the contrast becomes obvious. One of the most fascinating details comes in the last story. A professor who always considered himself a defender of the fairy-folk is abducted by them. He is stripped and examined and measured, and eventually given a new set of clothes and is kept on. After a long time (he has no way of measuring, for his watch is stopped) he is invited to come close to the queen who spends all of her days knitting. She explains very clearly to him that pattern according to which she carries out her task, and as soon as the explanation is given, it all disappears. He is back in the ordinary world, now many years older, and perceived as a lunatic by the world. Townsend Warner does not spell it out, but I suspect that this knitting pattern is the one pearl of knowledge he receives from all of his years under their spell. He wanted to write books about them, to explain their grammar and language, and yet (unable to communicate as he once did) he will probably spend the rest of his days knitting according to the pattern he was taught, quietly introducing into the world the one fruit of his encounter with the fairies.

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For these posts, I will set a 10-minute timer and then write what I can for that time. Even with so brief a timer, this means over 8 hours will be spent writing for this classics challenge. That seems like plenty.

See also: A third round of classics

A third round of classics

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By November 12, 2030, I plan to have read another 50 classic titles. I try to follow the outline used by The Classics Club, but I have not been so consistent in writing about the various titles I read. So far, I have been able to complete these challenges (as far as reading) in under five years.

  • First 50: April 22, 2017 to December 31, 2021
  • Second 50: December 31, 2021 to November 12, 2025
  • Third 50: November 12, 2025 to November 12, 2030

Instead of picking up from the titles on my last list that I did not read, I will start with a new list here:

  1. Anthony Powell, A Dance to the Music of Time (vol. 2)
  2. Anthony Powell, A Dance to the Music of Time (vol. 3)
  3. Anthony Powell, A Dance to the Music of Time (vol. 4)
  4. Anthony Powell, A Dance to the Music of Time (vol. 5)
  5. Anthony Powell, A Dance to the Music of Time (vol. 6)
  6. Anthony Powell, A Dance to the Music of Time (vol. 7)
  7. Anthony Powell, A Dance to the Music of Time (vol. 8)
  8. Anthony Powell, A Dance to the Music of Time (vol. 9)
  9. Anthony Powell, A Dance to the Music of Time (vol. 10)
  10. Anthony Powell, A Dance to the Music of Time (vol. 11)
  11. Anthony Powell, A Dance to the Music of Time (vol. 12)
  12. Sylvia Townsend Warner, The Kingdoms of Elfin
  13. Sylvia Townsend Warner, The Corner That Held Them
  14. Marcel Proust, In Search of Lost Time (vol. 1)
  15. Marcel Proust, In Search of Lost Time (vol. 2)
  16. Marcel Proust, In Search of Lost Time (vol. 3)
  17. Marcel Proust, In Search of Lost Time (vol. 4)
  18. Marcel Proust, In Search of Lost Time (vol. 5)
  19. Marcel Proust, In Search of Lost Time (vol. 6)
  20. Marcel Proust, In Search of Lost Time (vol. 7)
  21. Various authors, Philokalia (vol. 1)
  22. Various authors, Philokalia (vol. 2)
  23. Various authors, Philokalia (vol. 3)
  24. Various authors, Philokalia (vol. 4)
  25. Various authors, Philokalia (vol. 5)
  26. St. Augustine, The City of God
  27. St. Augustine, Enarrationes in Psalmos
  28. Plato, Critias
  29. Plato, Laws
  30. Aristotle, Topics
  31. William Wordsworth, The Prelude
  32. Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Biographia Literaria
  33. Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Aurora Leigh
  34. John Milton, Paradise Lost
  35. Alexander Pope, The Rape of the Lock
  36. Alexander Pope, An Essay on Man
  37. Alexander Pope, The Dunciad
  38. Daniel Defoe, Moll Flanders
  39. Samuel Johnson, Rasselas
  40. Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway
  41. Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse
  42. Virginia Woolf, The Common Reader: First Series
  43. James Joyce, Ulysses
  44. James Joyce, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man
  45. Herman Melville, Moby-Dick; or, The Whale
  46. Goethe, Italian Journey
  47. Juan Rulfo, Pedro Páramo
  48. Thomas Browne, Religio Medici
  49. John Crowley, Little, Big: or, The Fairies’ Parliament
  50. Murasaki Shikibu, The Tale of Genji

Books I am reading again. Three of these titles are re-reads for me: Mrs. Dalloway, volume one of the Philokalia, and Paradise Lost. I only include them because I am already partway through them and, since I do not intend to put them down, I might as well include them in the list. If there is any characteristic proper to a classic, it is re-readability.

Anthony Powell and Marcel Proust. No joke, I once had a dream in Alaska where I went out of my way to purchase A Dance to the Music of Time. When I woke up, I immediately sent off for a complete set of it, and yet I have only read the first of twelve volumes. I have the volumes; I must continue. He is often compared to Proust, whether this is appropriate or not. I wasn’t sure if I should include the latter, but then I thought, “Surely, I can have finished it by 2030?” And so I added it to the list.

Poetry. I went through a poetry kick a few months back. I am partway through Paradise Lost and Aurora Leigh, so I must finish those. But when I was reading all sorts of different things, I especially enjoyed the essays of Wordsworth, and so I want to read more of his poetry (the The Prelude is one of his lengthiest) and I would like to read prose from another poet of that time (thus the Coleridge I listed). Alexander Pope is also just good fun, so I threw a few of his in there.

Philokalia. This is currently my daily spiritual reading. I have read the first volume a few times, and I believe it is the strongest of the set. But I have probably never read all of the second volume, and have only barely touched the other three. Setting them on this list is just what I need to continue the work.

Augustine. I have read most of The City of God before, but it seemed appropriate to finally read it in its entirety. So far, it is not the most exciting, but I am hoping to recognize why this work is still so highly esteemed after so many centuries. His talks on the Psalms are what I am more interested in. I am almost listed this work as six distinct books, since the version I own is divided into six volumes, but I’ll leave it together for now.

Plato and Aristotle. I have certainly read their most significant works before, but I have never completed the ones I listed here. I especially want to study the Topics, as this is about the dialectic which leads to the manifestation of principles.

That explains most of it! As with previous years, I am sure other titles will sneak in before these. But this list can still serve as a standard and goal.

Second Classics Challenge Complete

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I have made almost no conscious effort to continue reading classics over the last couple years. Taking all of the posts together, most of this blog is dedicated to summarizing or reflecting on the books I have read during my “Classics Challenge.” This challenge entails nothing more than reading 50 classics over the course of 5 years. I completed this challenge for the first time between the years 2017 and 2021. And I then immediately began a new challenge to be completed by December 31, 2026, giving a tentative list of titles. Despite my inattention, have I actually managed to make headway in this challenge?

I will attempt to list below the classics I have read since that day:

  1. Alexandre Dumas, The Count of Monte Cristo
  2. Dorothy Day, The Long Loneliness
  3. Honoré de Balzac, Treatise on Modern Stimulants
  4. Dodie Smith, I Capture the Castle
  5. John Wyndham, The Chrysalids
  6. Nikolai Gogol, Dead Souls
  7. Robert Jordan, Eye of the World
  8. Frank Herbert, Dune Messiah
  9. Susanna Clarke, Piranesi
  10. Susanna Clarke, Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell
  11. Kazuo Ishiguro, Never Let Me Go
  12. James Joyce, The Dubliners
  13. Eugene Vodolazkin, Laurus
  14. Ismail Kadare, The Traitor’s Niche
  15. Ismail Kadare, The Doll
  16. Marcus Aurelius, Meditations
  17. Rumer Godden, In this House of Brede
  18. John Chrysostom, Six Books on the Priesthood
  19. Yasunari Kawabata, The Master of Go
  20. Yasunari Kawabata, Snow Country
  21. Haruki Murakami, What I Talk About When I Talk About Running
  22. Iris Murdoch, The Sea, the Sea
  23. Ezra Pound, ABC of Reading
  24. Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Idiot
  25. Shakespeare, Cymbeline
  26. Steven Runciman, History of the Crusades (vol. 1)
  27. Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet
  28. John Cassian, The Conferences
  29. Jon Krakauer, Into the Wild
  30. T.H. White, The Sword in the Stone
  31. Anthony Powell, A Question of Upbringing (A Dance to the Music of Time, vol. 1)
  32. Junichiro Tanizaki, In Praise of Shadows
  33. C.S. Lewis, Reflections on the Psalms
  34. Natsume Soseki, Kokoro
  35. Kentaro Miura, Berserk
  36. George Orwell, Books v. Cigarettes
  37. J.R.R. Tolkien, Leaf by Niggle
  38. Jane Austen, Emma
  39. C.S. Lewis, A Preface to Paradise Lost
  40. Peter S. Beagle, The Last Unicorn
  41. James Boswell, The Life of Samuel Johnson
  42. Wordsworth and Coleridge, Lyrical Ballads
  43. Aristotle, The Metaphysics
  44. Plato, Greater Hippias
  45. Plato, Lesser Hippias
  46. Plato, Menexenus
  47. Plato, Minos
  48. Shakespeare, All’s Well That Ends Well
  49. Plato, Timaeus
  50. Norton Juster, The Phantom Tollbooth

When I started drafting this post, I expected it to be a simple update, not thinking that I was very close to the end. But when the list continued to extend until (with a little stretching) it reached the required 50 titles. And so this is now a completion post.

Now some may reasonably dispute if all of the titles above merit inclusion on the list. The titles by Susanna Clarke and Vodolazkin are so recent that it may seem odd to consider them classics, but I am confident that Piranesi and Laurus will continue to be read in a hundred years. Other works are either only considered classics of a certain genre, or they are works I included simply because I found them on a Penguin Classics list. Though I have a read a bit more manga, Berserk is the only one I included due to its length and its importance in the genre. At least a couple of these are re-reads for me as well (e.g. Romeo and Juliet and Emma), but I have no problem including them. Obviously Plato is doing a lot of work toward the end of the list, but a little Plato goes a long way.

On the whole, I do not think I am reading as much as I used to. I have more responsibilities now, and reading is not always refreshing. Another culprit this year was reading a line in the Life of Samuel Johnson about how he always read according to inclination, and read much more than he otherwise would on account of it. After I read this, I began to pick up any book that took my fancy, even as it prevented me from finishing whatever other books I had out. For this reason, I am a good way into many books that I still have not finished: Ulysses, Moby-dick, Rasselas, The City of God, and many more. I can think of 3 other books I started this week, each of which is short enough to finish soon, and yet I may allow myself to get distracted to something else entirely.

The fewness of the hyperlinks in that list shows just how few titles I blogged about. I don’t suspect this will change in the future. This is partly due to the time it takes to write what is often little more than a book report. And then there is also the nature of WordPress with all of its ads; I’m tempted to move to Substack which, for now at least, is ad-free. Looking back on old posts, it is delightful to see that even these little write-ups of mine were able to prompt discussions with other readers out there! And so I will make no final departure at this time.

I will also hereby begin my Third Classics Challenge. Same rules: 50 classics in 5 years. I might make another post soon where I attempt to conjure up a list of 50 titles that I hope to read in fulfillment of this challenge. I read remarkably few of the titles in my previous list, many of which were carried over from before, so it may be worth making a fresh list.

Hopefully it won’t be another year until I post again! But I look forward to reading any comments, especially on the titles above.