No one likes my favorite book

The Last Gentleman to me is the ultimate contemplation of what it means to be human in a postmodern world, to others it's just a long, depressing book, about an unlikeable character

We all have that one book—the one that speaks to our soul in a way others just don’t get. For me, it’s The Last Gentleman by Walker Percy.

Percy asks one of life’s ultimate questions: “Why live?” And unlike so many narratives, it doesn’t hide behind easy answers, gloss over suffering with a neat spiritual solution, or revel in meaninglessness and despair.

Instead, it embraces the raw messiness of existence with an ultimate scene involving death, diarrhea, and baptism. 

I first read it for a Southern Literature class in the middle of the pandemic. At the time, dislocated from classes, from work, and friends I was deeply depressed and feeling lost. Reading The Last Gentleman, I felt seen in a very specific way for the first time.

Will Barrett is a neurotic meaning-of-life type, ambiguously troubled, directionless, and alienated from his fellow man. He interacts with people with equal parts naivete and arrogance, feeling he can see through their foibles into a deeper level of existence. I’ll admit, with some embarrassment, that I often felt the same way. It’s all too easy to sit at a party, red solo cup in hand, and imagine you’re the only person who has ever suffered.

Anyway, Percy’s book spoke to me and in some ways deescalated my ongoing existential crisis — believing I was the only one who felt the pressing threat of meaningless in my day-to-day life. I return to The Last Gentleman when I feel far away from myself and when life feels somehow both futile and overwhelming. Each time, I come away feeling a little more grounded. 

Yet, despite my enthusiasm, no one else seems to like The Last Gentleman.

What for me is the ultimate contemplation of what it means to be human in a postmodern world, to them is a long, depressing book, about a character they just don’t relate to.

It’s frankly fascinating that 100 people can all read the same book and come away with 100 at least slightly different opinions about it. What’s comforting to me, might be disturbing to you, or just plain boring. And the reverse is true too! I’ve never been able to get into The Goldfinch even though so many people whose taste I respect have recommended it to me. 

I think this is part of what makes humans and our relationship to art so fascinating. True things have to be said and said over again with thousands of different lenses from thousands of voices so that even more listeners can understand them. We all turn to art to feel less alone and so if we don’t identify with a book, we’re not likely to enjoy it. 

That’s why we have favorites and mostly they’re all different. It may be what makes finding another person with your favorite show or movie so special. You know at once that they are a like mind, that some small part of them and a small part of you are the same. 

I guess I should be grateful that everyone doesn’t relate to the somewhat arrogant and existential Will Barrett. 

It’s not a great way to be. 

That said, go read The Last Gentleman. For like 2% of you, it’ll be life-changing.