Today, I talked to the AI about my thoughts after trying to read a bit of The Long Goodbye by Chandler.
Not just this book — I was thinking about works by literary masters in general.

It started when I read the first page of one such book and saw just three lines that immediately struck me. The style was something I had never seen before. I couldn’t describe it, only feel it—so this is also what writing can be like?

“The girl gave him a look which ought to have stuck at least four inches out of his back.
He strolled off trailing clouds of incense.
From his voice and articulation you wouldn’t have known he had had anything stronger than orange juice to drink.“

It reminded me of the time, maybe two years ago, when I tried reading The Great Gatsby. I got stuck almost immediately. And last winter, the same thing happened with The Silence of the Lambs. With Gatsby, part of the problem was vocabulary—there were just too many words way beyond my level. But even when I could read smoothly on the surface, the detailed descriptions in the story were often out of my reach in terms of life experience. For example, in The Silence of the Lambs, after Hannibal is introduced—even though I could understand every word—I still didn’t get why there were such specific restrictions on him (like why his cell had to be so empty), or why he spoke with that particular tone and expression. What was the intent behind his behavior? What was implied between the lines?

That’s when I realized I didn’t understand. It was like watching a complex drama—you sometimes need to analyze it frame by frame. The scene passes by in a flash, and I might not even notice what I was supposed to see.

Later in the evening, while chatting, I suddenly thought:
maybe this is what it feels like for foreigners reading the Grand View Garden (大觀園) scenes in Dream of the Red Chamber (《紅樓夢》). If you’ve never seen any visuals, it must be hard to imagine just from words alone.

I also recalled my college literature class in which we studied British and American works. Our professor was said to have cried while teaching, but back then, maybe no one in the class truly cared. I know I didn’t understand anything at the time.

Most of the books I’ve read over the past few years are recent publications—novels, memoirs, that sort of thing. But to read from a literary classic … that feels like a whole new beginning.