Humor me for a moment, and mentally discard all those books that are, in your opinion, page-turners. Any reads that you find to be quick, easy, fun, fascinating, lovely, exciting, or otherwise engrossing are irrelevant to this discussion.

Next, add to that discard pile all those books that lack redeeming qualities, as far as you can tell. You’ve read a few pages and are bored senseless. And the book is not highly acclaimed by any reputable source. And you doubt you will learn or otherwise gain anything useful from it. These books are also irrelevant to our discussion.

What do we have left, once we toss aside the books that are a delight to read and the books we’re better off skipping? That’s right—difficult books that have value.

By now, you probably know me well enough to guess what I would advise you to do upon encountering such a book. (Hint: It doesn’t involve throwing anything across a room.) So I’ll skip the preachy lecture and proceed to the main discussion. What’s the best way to read a difficult book that has value—that has the capacity to teach you something or otherwise enhance your worldview?

1. Commit to a daily page count.

Since the only way to tackle a large project is to break it into manageable steps, I recommend setting a daily page count goal for yourself. Once you’ve decided on a goal, don’t think about how many hundreds of unread pages remain. Instead, focus on how many pages you plan to read today.

My usual goal is 40 pages per day. This is a loose goal. If one day I don’t read very much, the next day I try to exceed my goal amount. It’s also a loose goal in that I change it depending on the book. Books have different page sizes, font sizes, and reading difficulty levels. If it’s a denser or harder book than average, or if for another reason it takes me longer than usual to turn a page, I might make my daily goal 30 pages. If it takes me less time than usual to turn a page, I might make my daily goal 50 pages.

Forty pages per day is an ambitious goal for me. It’s hard to achieve, and I don’t always succeed; but I often do. It’s a good practice to aim high. Just remember to not only congratulate yourself on your achievements, but also cut yourself some slack if life gets in the way for a few days.

2. Skip the introduction, or read it afterward.

If the introduction was written by someone other than the author, do not read it first.* Once you’ve finished reading the actual book, you can, if you want, go back and read it; but this is optional. While introductions are often interesting and enlightening, they are supplementary material. They are commentary on the text itself—which is the main show.

Reading the introduction first can be a disheartening experience, one that may even cause you to abandon the book before making it to page 1! The introduction’s intended audience is a person who has already read the book and is curious about what someone else thought. Therefore, the introduction may mention scenes without explanations of what was going on, with the assumption that the reader has read them already and does not need such background information. If this isn’t the case, confusion is likely to result. The introduction may also include spoilers; and who needs those?

So why are introductions placed before the main text, if they are meant to be read after it? That’s a very good question! Like most everything in this world, it probably has to do with someone making money. When a publisher reissues an old classic, it tries to drum up excitement among potential buyers for a product that is, after all, passé by including a new, laudatory critique of the book, often by a famous author or someone with special expertise on the book. A person who has already read the book might buy it for the introduction. A person who hasn’t read the book might also buy it for the introduction; but even in that case, it not should be read before the main text.

3. Look up words and references you don’t understand.

Strike a balance between not looking up enough and looking up too much. Try to figure out which words are vital to understand, and which can safely be passed by. The danger of not looking up enough is that you might fail to understand what’s going on. The danger of looking up too much is that you might lose the flow of the reading, take so long that you start forgetting what happened earlier in the book, get lost in details and fail to grasp the big picture, or give up due to the tediousness of it all.

Your first step should be to guess what things mean based on context. If you don’t have a good guess, use your favorite search engine.

A couple decades ago, the main challenge was access to the information, as physical dictionaries and encyclopedias are bulky and heavy. Today, the main challenge is not getting sucked in to the Internet when you go there to look something up. Watch yourself while using your wifi-connected device!**

4. Avoid noise and disruption.

Everyone has different levels of tolerance as regards studying environments. For example, some people can study on a bus, while others find it too noisy and bumpy. However, everyone comprehends difficult texts better when outside stimuli and interruptions are reduced. If the book you’re reading is difficult, trying to read it in poor conditions will only result in frustration.

To avoid noise, obviously a quiet room is best. If that’s not possible, wear earplugs, noise-cancelling headphones, or both.

To avoid disruption, (1) silence your phone; (2) pretend that the Internet exists only as a surrogate dictionary/encyclopedia, and that clicking to other sites or apps will shock you (like a dog collar, preventing one from crossing the line!); and (3) practice extreme antisociality (you might warn your family and friends beforehand!).

If all else fails, take your book to a quiet corner of the library, and don’t leave until you have reached your daily page count goal.

5. Keep pressing forward, even if you don’t understand.

Some people mistakenly believe that reading the first chapter over and over will improve comprehension. Rereading may improve memory, but it likely won’t improve comprehension very much, unless you do something different the second time around. For example, if you were just skimming or flipping through during the first read, rereading the section in a more serious or methodical way is likely to help. Or perhaps you didn’t look up essential terms, in which case rereading while looking up terms may help. Or perhaps you were trying to read in a noisy, disruptive environment; rereading in different circumstances may improve your understanding.

Generally speaking, though, it’s better to press on. If you keep reading, you are likely to catch on to what the author’s trying to do. In fact, many difficult books are supposed to feel confusing at first; a big part of their appeal is the challenge of figuring them out. Think of a difficult book as a jigsaw puzzle when you have lost the picture on the box lid. You wouldn’t put together a few pieces, and then take them apart and put them together again just because you didn’t understand how the entire picture would look. The clues to “getting” a book are often located deeper within. If you keep moving forward, you may surprise yourself. Your big breakthrough realization about chapter 1 may not occur until chapter 10. And that’s okay.

6. Eat and sleep.

The brain needs food and rest to function. The more hungry or tired you are, the less effective it will be in doing the complicated work of translating text to meaning. If you’re following the tips above but still aren’t getting it, grab a snack or take a nap, and try again. You will be amazed at how much more intelligible everything suddenly is.

7. Don’t give up.

This is the one that trips up the most people. So, make a commitment to yourself to finish the book, and diligently work toward your goal, until you achieve it.

Remember that finishing a high-quality book is a worthy goal, since many books don’t impart their fullest wisdom until you have made it to the end. And, nope, skipping to the end won’t work. You won’t acquire the wisdom unless you get there the hard way.

Best of luck with your reading endeavors. I know you will make it through that big one on your nightstand! With persistence, many things are possible.

*While I feel strongly about this, some people feel differently. To read arguments on both sides, check out the Keeping Up With the Penguins blog post Do You Read the Introduction First?

**Avoiding distraction in the Internet age is a large and important topic; see also my blog posts about the book Digital Minimalism by Cal Newport.

On New Year’s Day, the inquisitive one sat down with a brand new pad of paper and brand new pen, both received as gifts the previous month.

The inquisitive one thought very seriously for a few minutes, biting softly on a thumb. Then suddenly, the inquisitive one removed the thumb from the mouth, picked up the pen, and wrote a string of words on the pad, reciting them aloud while writing:

“This year, I resolve to GROW more VEGETABLES, RUN more MILES, READ more BOOKS, and COOK more HEALTHY MEALS than I EVER have in ANY YEAR before!”

The inquisitive one underlined the key words several times and then drew little illustrations of veggies, running shoes, books, and cooking utensils all around the sentence on the pad. Happily, the inquisitive one tore the top sheet off the pad and taped it to the fridge.

But a week or so later—alas!—things were not going well as regards the resolution. You see, the inquisitive one had had some pretty impressive years in the past, in the realms of vegetable growing, mile running, book reading, and healthy meal cooking. This year so far, the inquisitive one had been sadly neglecting those activities, in favor of relative entertaining, light bulb replacing, nose blowing, highway driving, obscure fact Googling, schmancy gala attending, and frantic HVAC guy calling.

To make up for lost time, the inquisitive one tossed some dry beans, frozen kale, and stock in a crock pot, drove to the gym, got on a treadmill, and attempted to run while alternating between reading a novel and browsing a seed catalogue.

By the end of that day, the inquisitive one had decided to grow tomatoes, variety TBD; run half a mile; read half a page; and cooked a healthy meal that tasted like pebbles in a polluted stream.

Angrily, the inquisitive one snatched the resolution off the fridge, crumpled it up, and threw it away. The inquisitive one got out the special pad and pen and wrote a sentence on the topmost sheet, reciting the words while writing:

“This year, I resolve to make NO New Year’s resolution!!”

The inquisitive one, having neglected to draw anything around the sentence, proudly ripped off the sheet and taped it to the fridge.

The next day, however, the revised resolution did not sit well with the inquisitive one. Every time the inquisitive one went to get some string cheese, hummus, broccoli, butter, or whatever, the sentence seemed to stare outwards with menace.

After a couple of days of repeated, unsettling intimations from the fridge door, the inquisitive one tore down the paper, crumpled it up, and threw it away.

Once again, the inquisitive one got out the deliciously beautiful, and amazingly functional, pad and pen. Once again, the inquisitive one chewed softly on a thumb. And once again, suddenly the inquisitive one wrote and recited a sentence:

“This year, I resolve to make a New Year’s resolution.”

The inquisitive one decorated the page with illustrations of flowers, birds, clouds, and special pads and pens; boogie danced on over to the fridge; and taped it up.

The next day, the inquisitive one spent a lot of time working on a project for the boss, shopping for clothes, and talking on the phone.

The day after that, the inquisitive one went on a long run, finished reading the novel, and baked a big batch of granola.

And the day after that, the inquisitive one, with great excitement, decided to plant a variety of sweet pepper that was, according to the seed catalogue, “very productive,” “early maturing,” and “displease resistant.”

One thing Émile Zola handles particularly well in his novel The Ladies’ Paradise is contrast.

The existence or absence of contrast in a novel is, in fact, a pretty good indicator of quality. After all, it is only in relation to other things that we are able to perceive anything with any degree of accuracy or understanding.

Can we fully understand and appreciate joy and excitement without having sometime seen sorrow and frustration? What is virtuous living—or to use a more modern and secular term, wholehearted living—if not something to be contrasted with despicable or tormented living?

And so we have, in Zola’s novel, a rich character who hosts a social gathering “in her large Louis XVI. drawing-room, the brasses and brocatelle of which shone out with a clear gaiety.”

Her well-off guests drink tea and eat sponge cake surrounded by luxurious brass furnishings and brocatelle—the word means “raised design on upholstery or curtains”—and it is all very fancy and sophisticated and immaculate and charming.

Meanwhile, the employees of The Ladies’ Paradise dine noisily in the damp basement: all packed in together, eating less than palatable food. Everyone feels crowded, overworked, and hungry. And then comes one of my favorite lines in the novel:

“The walls reeked with moisture, a slow asphyxia fell from the moldy ceiling.”

This is, of course, a translation from the original French; but in English, anyway, it’s a stunning line. Asphyxia cannot actually fall from anywhere—the word means “lack of oxygen” or “suffocation” . . . and yet we know precisely what is meant. We can feel it! I wish I could read this line in the original French and experience it as it was written; but I’ll have to remain content, for now, with this version—and I’m more than content with it!

What are the best and worst social dining environments you’ve experienced?

I laughed aloud when I read this passage from Matthew B. Crawford’s book The World Beyond Your Head:

“I recently visited Las Vegas, a place designed for the single purpose of separating you from your money.”

It’s funny because—beneath the surface—it’s true. Las Vegas is exciting because it’s full of things humans are hard-wired to pay attention to: bright, flashy lights and shows; sexy cowboys and cowgirls, along with the prospect of easy sex; food chock-full of sugar, fat, and salt; alcohol for every taste and price range; free stuff; and the prospect, no matter how long the odds, of acquiring gobs of money with little effort—just to name a few of the attractions on offer in this photo alone. However, what appears to be an abundance of exciting choices is actually an elaborate series of funnels toward addiction and loss of control over one’s money and other resources, painstakingly calculated and orchestrated by those in control.

I have never experienced what it is like to be addicted to gambling; but I have experienced addiction to food. When Crawford talks about the “death instinct” of addiction to gambling, I know what he means. He spoke to gamblers who explained that they often feel the need to spend all their money—to “zero out”—so they can go home and rest. If there’s money left in their pocket, they feel a tension in the uncertainty of whether they will spend it. It feels more comfortable to spend it all, so you can relax.

Give me a big bag of chips, and I feel the same way. Even if my stomach is full to bursting and my mouth is burning from the salt, how could I possibly leave any of it uneaten? Then I will just worry endlessly, wondering whether I will eat the remainder. It’s better to keep eating until it’s impossible to continue, because it’s all gone or I’m too sick, or to somehow find a way to throw it out irretrievably. Then I can relax.

But . . . what about willpower? What about freedom of choice? Shouldn’t gamblers be allowed the freedom to spend their money as they wish? Shouldn’t I be allowed to eat an entire big bag of chips in one sitting, without some sort of food cop ripping the bag from my hands? If we choose to do these things, isn’t that our prerogative, and our responsibility to face the consequences?

Well, yes, of course. However . . . we should also think about society as a whole and what people are being funneled toward by entities (like big corporations) with exponentially more wealth and power than most individuals. We should think about ways that society, as well as individuals, might put checks on that wealth and power. Do people who live hundreds of miles from the nearest casino experience lower odds of becoming addicted to gambling? (Yes.) Do people who live hundreds of miles from the nearest junk food outlet have lower odds of becoming addicted to sugar, fat, and salt? (Yes.) Here’s some more wisdom from Crawford:

“We abstain on principle from condemning activities that leave one compromised and degraded, because we fear that disapproval of the activity would be paternalistic toward those who engage in it. We also abstain from affirming some substantive picture of human flourishing, for fear of imposing our values on others. This gives us a pleasant feeling: we have succeeded in not being paternalistic or presumptuous. The priority we give to avoiding these vices in particular is rooted in our respect for persons, understood as autonomous. ‘People should be allowed to make their own decisions.'”

Crawford’s point (that is, one of his many points), and it’s a subtle one, is that people are not wholly autonomous. A person does not live in the bubble of his/her own head. By definition, a human being is a creature residing in a real world and interfacing with that real world, every second of every day.

Do we want a real world full of slot machines and people mindlessly pushing buttons, and full of junk food outlets and people mindlessly stuffing chips down their throats until they get sick? Of course, there are many things that individuals can do to avoid such traps as much as possible; for example, I avoid keeping chips around the house and strive to form and keep healthy eating habits. But what can society, as opposed to individuals, do to reduce the number of people who are funneled into, as Crawford says, “activities that leave one compromised and degraded”?

Dare we imagine another world, a better way?

The inquisitive one attended a few runner’s club events and became friends with another runner. They decided to meet, on the following Sunday, at a trailhead and run south along the stream together.

“I grew pumpkins this year,” said the inquisitive one, between breaths while running. “I grew two kinds of pumpkins, one kind to carve and another kind to eat.”

“That’s great!” said the friend, between breaths while running. “You will have lots of fun doing those things. My latest DIY project is building a bar area in the basement. I also want to get a pool table.”

“That’s great!” said the inquisitive one. “You will have lots of fun doing those things.”

And so then, all while running south and turning and running back north, they talked about different kinds of pumpkins and how to carve and eat them, as well as basement bars and how to build them and the difference between pool and billiards.

When they got back to the trailhead, the inquisitive one said, “Running and talking with you was fun. I would love to meet for another run sometime!”

“I hate the pumpkin craze, this time of year,” replied the friend. “Pumpkins are disgusting. Growing them is a bad idea. Most people hate pumpkins. You should grow tomatoes, instead. That’s more normal, anyway.”

That’s when the friend hopped into a souped-up minivan and sped away.