The Great "Classics in a Year" Reading List

A (slightly insane) crash course through the indispensable classics

If you’re like me, you’re haunted by never having read enough.

This intuition may or may not match your reality, but the truth doesn’t matter much. Regardless of how much you’ve read, whether you’re young or old, formally educated or not, there is always too much left unread. Volumes mock you from the stacks. And in some ways it gets worse the harder you try, because once the “basics” are checked off you realize just how little of the surface you’ve really scratched.

I’ve been plagued by this feeling for thirty years.

In college, I boldly set out to read the Western Canon in earnest, naively determined to conquer the whole dadgum thing—only to discover just how long that road actually was. (It’s infinite.) Plus, I constantly hit roadblocks that jarred me, swerved me, or sent me careening into a ditch. And this with the advantage of an English lit degree, too, not to mention a genuine, self-motivated desire to read the classics on my own. For fun. But still, the more time passed, the more the obvious crashed into me like a semi hitting a building—reading it all is impossible.

Yet to this day I still find myself mentally berating myself for every gap. “How can you possibly claim you’re literate if you’ve never read Marlowe? Wharton? Pynchon? Only one Austen novel? What are you, a hayseed?”

(Am I alone here?…)

So other than telling ourselves to shut up (often a good idea) how do we fix this? Or–since I’d argue that for most normal readers like you and me, “fixing” it isn’t realistic—how do we at least improve? Knock out the big titles, at a minimum? How do we make a few more miles down that road, swerving around the deepest potholes without blowing out our tires?

In other words: get to that absolute baseline of experiencing every ground-zero, basement-level must-read of the Western Canon.

my beloved bookshelf

A One-Year Experiment for Fools

As an experiment, I rolled up my sleeves to design a reading plan that would cover these essentials: a survey of the great masterpieces of Western literature for beginners, from the ancient Greeks to our day—and to try to cram them all into a single year.

Why one year, you ask? Why not two, or five, or ten, or no timeline at all?

No grand reason, honestly. I simply know myself. If you’re like me, we work best when not just “grazing,” but when committed to a clear schedule. Sure, without that discipline we may do okay, but more often than not the results turn out scattershot and sloppy. This holds true in my job, in physical exercise, in my fiction writing habits, and even in worship (thank God for the Church’s cycle of services saving me from my lazy self). A plan gets it done.

So yes: one year. Again, not to read everything, but to cover the basics.

Almost immediately after my initial excitement, I realized how foolish this was. The classics span far too far, stretch way too wide. There are simply too many greats. I soon found myself making not a yearlong plan but a century’s long plan…

So, tongue pinned to lip, I got to culling—and let me tell you, it hurt.

First, I cut all lyric poetry. (Be still, my heart!)

Then I cut all drama—though I just couldn’t bring myself to leave out Sophocles or (gasp) Shakespeare, because that would be outright lunacy.

Then for sake of brevity, the longer novels had to go. (Ouch!) Looking over the list, you’ll definitely spot those omissions, possibly shouting aloud what an idiot I was for cutting this or that. I agree with you, my friend. My index finger still burns from pressing the delete key, condemning to the abyss Anna Karenina, The Brothers Karamazov, Les Misérables, the longer Dickens novels, and many other cherished works. Cutting so much to squeeze into the timeframe really, really—really—hurt. Gouging out your guts with a rusty trowel kind of hurt.

But it didn’t stop there.

I soon found myself having to slash most non-British and non-American books as well. Yes, you’ll find a couple Russians texts, a few French and a smattering of other European works—but it’s shamefully skimpy. And I didn’t even consider the non-Western works that have deservedly muscled their way into the broader Canon. That would have made the project completely unmanageable.

Oh, and forget “equitable representation.” Even if I believed in that kind of bean-counting (which I don’t), there simply isn’t room here to fret over questions like: Are there enough women? Enough Black authors? Latinos? Gays? I’ll say it plainly: no. There aren’t. There isn’t enough of anybody.

When the dust settled, I saw what was left: a fair (if slim) survey of the works that I, a non-academic, maintain are universally acknowledged as major literary achievements of the past 2,000+ years. Maybe a couple “iffers,” but mainly.

Even so, this list is like dipping a bucket into the Atlantic and claiming you’ve caught the ocean. It’s tiny. Bare-bones to the point of skeletal. But hopefully, what’s left is enough to give general readers some taste of the progression and power of the thing itself, as a whole.

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The Brutal Math of Reading

Finally, to double check my schedule I asked how much reading one can realistically do in a year. This wrinkled it even more.

I’ll confess something upfront—I’m a notoriously slow reader. Years ago I trained myself not to skim, but to savor. This was born largely of survival: my first BA was in philosophy, and I learned the hard way how entire tomes by Plato, Kant, Kierkegaard, and their pals can be “read” without understanding a single blessed thing. So I slammed on the brakes and forced myself to read slowly. Every. Single. Word. (Sometimes. Even. Twice.)

Now I can’t shift into a higher gear. I always read slow and steady, no matter what. Even with commercial fiction (probably why I struggle to enjoy it.) Heck, even reading cereal boxes—I’m like a snail crawling across the letters.

So, when I saw online estimates suggesting that an average college-level reader can read 15,000–18,000 words per hour, I conservatively set my target at the low end.

Because I wanted this plan to be feasible for normal, serious readers—not PhD’s who have the luxury of reading for a living (lucky bastards)--I figured an ambitious but achievable goal was one hour of reading per weeknight, plus two hours on Saturday and two on Sunday. That adds up to nine hours per week, or roughly 135,000 words per week.

Wait, what?

135,000 words per week is insane!

That’s like finishing The Return of the King in nine hours. No chance I could hit that. Especially when grappling denser, more difficult texts. Maybe some speed-reader could, but not folks like little old me.

Therefore, you’ll see below that I scaled this back considerably, out of sheer self-preservation, shooting for more like 100,000 words a week. Still a clip, but doable. And besides, speed is not the point here—we’re not BookTok influencers and these aren’t popcorn reads. This is great literature; our goal is to actually absorb their magic and message.

Even so, I’m not convinced this schedule allows enough time for full enjoyment and understanding. A year is a long grind and life happens: days get busy, we get sick, we lose momentum. So while this experiment might be possible for some unusually disciplined readers, your mileage will absolutely vary.

No matter what, if you do attempt it, remember this above all: do not read merely to finish. Flipping to the last page is not the point. Engaging with our predecessors—with the literary geniuses of our culture—is. Slow down whenever you need to. Take a break, slip in a “buffer” week. Whatever. 52 weeks or 60 or 104–in the end, who cares?

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Important Notes Before the Unveiling

First: I have not included either the Bible or any mythology in this plan. And reading Western literature without both is ridiculous.

I strongly recommend that anyone who hasn’t already done so read the entire Bible–namely, the 1611 King James Version—from Genesis to Revelation. You simply cannot get most Western literature without it. It’s impossible. And not only due to its content, either: the KJV itself had a seismic influence on English literature.

Maybe consider tackling this as “Year Zero.” You can even follow one of the many Bible-in-a-Year reading plans available, though I’m not sure if any use the 1611 KJV. (Regardless, the popular Fr. Mike Schmidt’s videos or podcast get a “strong recommend” from me).

Alongside that, read mythology—especially Greek and Roman myths. It doesn’t need to be Ovid; Bulfinch’s retellings are perfectly fine. You might even intersperse a myth with each daily Bible reading.

Second: if you’re a fledgling classicist, I highly recommend keeping a reading journal. Honestly, even experienced readers swear by it.

You can buy a pre-printed reading journal, use a digital platform, or just grab a spiral-bound notebook. After each reading session, jot down a few sentences about what you just read. That’s it. Trust me, you’ll remember far more and think much sharper. If you want, you can also predict what will happen next or note what you’re curious to learn in upcoming chapters. Not required—but both are fun and useful.

Also, though time will be tight, I recommend taking some time to research each book after finishing it. You’ll have the rest of your life to ponder these works, but now, before soldiering on, glance at summaries of themes, symbols, and significance. CliffNotes. A quick “What Beowulf is about” YouTube video. Wikipedia (ug–not a fan, but still…) That’s enough for now. And don’t forget to copy a couple nuggets into your journal.

Audiobooks?
You do you—but I’m adamant that for works this sublime, reading print matters. To experience the classics as they were intended, to remember and internalize them, putting eyes-on-the-page is essential (or eyes-on-the-Kindle—you can find nearly all older classics for free, via Project Gutenberg or from your local library’s app).

That said, audiobooks can be useful occasionally—on long drives, for instance. I might reserve them for some more contemporary novels, which often translate better to audio. Not all do, though, so don’t be shy about cutting your listening short if one falls flat (ex: I find Gatsby a dreadful listen, but Steinbeck wonderful).

Plays:
Here I flip my advice. If you must choose, watch plays rather than read them. Both would be better, but hey, we’re against the clock here. Professional recordings of Shakespeare and Sophocles are readily available online, and although some performances may be snoozers, as long as you avoid amateur productions you’ll likely be fine. (And yes—journal afterward.)

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So without further ado, here’s the list in all its madcap glory:

The Great Classics-in-a-Year Week-by-Week Reading Schedule

Ancient & Medieval Foundations

Week 1: Homer, The Odyssey (~121,000 words)
Week 2: Homer, The Odyssey (cont.)

Week 3: Sophocles, Oedipus the King (play – watch or read)

Week 4: Virgil, The Aeneid (~99,000 words)
Week 5: Virgil, The Aeneid (cont.)

Week 6: Beowulf (~25,000 words)

Week 7: Dante, The Divine Comedy (Inferno) (~25,000 words)
Week 8: Dante, The Divine Comedy (Inferno, cont.)

Week 9: Chaucer, Canterbury Tales (Only Prologue, Wife of Bath, Pardoner, Miller – ~20,000–22,000 words)

Week 10:
Selections from either (read as much as you can in a week–try to find a “good parts” version)

• Edmund Spenser, The Faerie Queene or

• Sir Thomas Malory, Le Morte d’Arthur

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Shakespeare Festival!

Week 11: watch/read one play per day

• Macbeth

• King Lear

• Julius Caesar

• Henry IV, Part I

• The Tempest

• Hamlet

• Much Ado About Nothing

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Early Modern & Enlightenment

Week 12: John Milton, Paradise Lost (~78,000 words)
Week 13: Paradise Lost (cont.)
Week 14: Paradise Lost (cont.)

Week 15: Voltaire, Candide (~30,000 words)

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The Rise of the Novel (19th Century)

Week 16: Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice (~122,000 words)
Week 17: Pride and Prejudice (cont.)
Week 18: Pride and Prejudice (cont.)
Week 19: Pride and Prejudice (cont.)

Week 20: Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights (~107,000 words)
Week 21: Wuthering Heights (cont.)
Week 22: Wuthering Heights (cont.)
Week 23: Wuthering Heights (cont.)

Week 24: Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol (~28,000 words)
(Strongly recommended for the week of Christmas—feel free to move it there :)

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Dostoevsky (yes, he gets a category for himself)

Week 25: Fyodor Dostoevsky, Crime and Punishment (~211,000 words)
Week 26: Crime and Punishment (cont.)
Week 27: Crime and Punishment (cont.)
Week 28: Crime and Punishment (cont.)
Week 29: Crime and Punishment (cont.)

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Short Story Festival!

Week 30: One short work per day

• Tolstoy, “The Death of Ivan Ilyich”

• Chekhov, “Gooseberries” (and/or another)

• Joyce, “Araby”

• Poe, “The Tell-Tale Heart”

• Gilman, “The Yellow Wallpaper”

• Hemingway, “A Clean, Well-Lighted Place”

• Kafka, The Metamorphosis (this one’s actually a novella ~21,000 words)

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American Classics

Week 31: Nathaniel Hawthorne, The Scarlet Letter (~63,000 words)
Week 32: The Scarlet Letter (cont.)
Week 33: The Scarlet Letter (cont.)

Week 34: Herman Melville, Moby-Dick (~206,000 words)
Week 35: Moby-Dick (cont.)
Week 36: Moby-Dick (cont.)
Week 37: Moby-Dick (cont.)
Week 38: Moby-Dick (cont.)

Week 39: Henry James, Daisy Miller (~27,000 words)

Week 40: Mark Twain, Adventures of Huckleberry Finn (~110,000 words)
Week 41: Huckleberry Finn (cont.)
Week 42: Huckleberry Finn (cont.)

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Choose-Your-Own Adventure: Modern

Weeks 43–46: Choose ONE

• F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

• William Faulkner, As I Lay Dying

• Ernest Hemingway, The Sun Also Rises

• John Steinbeck, The Grapes of Wrath

• Saul Bellow, Herzog

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Choose-Your-Own Adventure: Late Modern

Weeks 47–50: Choose ONE

• George Orwell, 1984

• E. M. Forster, A Passage to India

• Mikhail Bulgakov, The Master and Margarita

• Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

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Finish Strong

Weeks 51 & 52: Cormac McCarthy, Blood Meridian (~116,000 words)

(Note: this is not (yet) a “classic”--so feel free to choose another “modern classic” here.)

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you, after finishing the list

Okay, Smarty, Are You Going to Do This?

Now that I‘ve gone through all the pain and discomfort of cutting and pruning down to the skinniest classics reading list imaginable, am I going to follow my prescription over the next twelve months?

Nope.

First of all, the point of the experience was to see what this could look like. If it was possible in a reasonable amount of time (and with hearty determination) to knock out the basics of the Western Canon. And I think this shows one way that could be done. Maybe the 52 week constraint is a bit tight, but sure, it’s do-able.

Secondly, I’ve already read nearly all of these. Some more than once. For others, it’s been years (well, decades, actually…) so I’ve forgotten just about everything. I’ll need to reread them now, as an older, more experienced reader, and at some point I will. I’m at a different spot, filling in other gaps–not to mention sampling newer books, to keep in touch with the current bookish landscape.

But if you give this list a shot, be sure to let me know how it’s going!

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Thanks for stopping by the Reading Room today. The comments are your special spot to torture me by listing in black and white all the greats I stupidly cut from the list, or to otherwise argue. Warning: I’ll probably just respond, “Yep, you’re right.”