When I first considering reading Joseph Heller’s Catch-22, I had only a vague idea as to what to expect. In a nutshell, I knew that one US soldier entrenched in Europe during World War II realized that in order to stop flying bombing missions, he had to be classified as crazy. Of course, the only way he could be considered officially crazy was to initiate the process by claiming that he was crazy, thereby proving that he was in fear of his own life and not crazy at all. That was the catch, Catch-22.

I was caught up in the book on the first page. Rarely, I thought the book became a bit repetitive, overemphasizing the apparent or false insanity of several minor characters. By the end, I didn’t have a full grasp on who was sane and who wasn’t. Without over-analyzing the book, I’m almost convinced that Yossarian might have been the only sane soldier in the story.

Catch-22 is a good, light read if you don’t mind the occasional cropping up of senseless violence that always seems to accompany war, an interesting book to pick up that puts world crises such as we are all now experiencing in a slightly more manageable light. For a fun exercise, take note of how often the Catch-22 rule is applied in vastly different situations, and then consider what would happen if today’s lawmakers, soldiers, and military strategists applied the rule the same way. Scary!

I originally didn’t expect to enjoy the story, and I am surprised to find myself looking forward to seeing the screen adaptation.

In contrast to the three months it took me to force myself to complete Anna Karenina, only four days passed before I finished Mark Twain’s classic A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court — and it only took that long because I forced myself to repeatedly put it down so that I wouldn’t finish it overnight!

This work is obviously pure fantasy; check your disbelief at the door. The basic premise is that a 19th-century tradesman is mysteriously transported to and left in the time of King Arthur, eventually using his vast intellect and overwhelming experience to propel himself to the upper ranks of the court and to influence all human life in England. Having never read the short novel before, I was surprised at how much vital knowledge the gun-maker brought back with him from Connecticut through the 13 centuries: the exact times of solar eclipses of a long-gone millennium, war stratagems, the manufacturing of steamships, formulas for tooth rinse and gun powder, electrical power generation, the telephone. I doubt I could have done so well! Like I said, suspend thine disbelief!

While Connecticut Yankee is a fun romp through the sixth century, it simultaneously pokes fun at Victorian-era England and successfully undermines the church. The use of archaic language and structure sprinkled throughout can be a bit distracting, but manages to add to the overall flavor. Mixed in with myriad puns and jokes and oft full-blown hilarity is a shocking and disturbing violence that is accepted, endorsed, and often instigated by the lead character. Twain’s method of complete erasure of the newly introduced modern technology into an age not ready was very clever. This doom, foreseen by our protagonist, led him to prepare long in advance for the demise of everything for which he had hoped and worked — a sort of tragic comedy.

My only disappointment is that the adventure is now over. Off to find a new classic!

Billed as one of the greatest love stories in world literature, Leo Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina would serve the reader better as two separate novels. The two primary characters — Anna, the beautiful and courtly infidel, and Levin, the introspective recluse — and their supporting cast have such infrequent interaction that I spent the last two-thirds of the epic wondering with eager anticipation how the two vastly different tales would be seamlessly woven together. I was unfortunately disappointed by the distracting division.

The novel’s namesake was an easy character to become interested in, despite the fact that I could not personally relate to any of her choices or tragedies. Her self-imposed plight, an unfortunately common but accepted one today, showcased the intricate machinations of 19th-century Russian upper-class society. Karenina’s tragic end was too abrupt, leaving me wanting more — perhaps because of the juxtaposition of the apparent violence of her death and its seemingly out-of-place peacefulness.

Levin began as an equally engaging character with which Tolstoy amazingly captured the internal thoughts of the spiritual soul-searcher. However, despite the eventual internal discovery of that which made Levin feel whole and divinely sound, the entire middle third of the novel was mired in drudgery and repetition. Character growth was slow if not stagnant. By the end, I couldn’t have cared less about Levin’s revelations; I would have preferred that the outcomes of the two leads to have been switched. The most interesting aspect of Levin is that he is essentially a mirror into the soul of Tolstoy, Leo himself having gone through the same introspections at the time of the writing of this novel.

I’m glad I read the 750-page tome, but Anna Karenina will be one of the few rare books that forever collect dust on my upper shelves, unlikely to be read by me again.