Dear readers, It’s one of the most popular tropes around: the second-chance romance. Two people date, break up, then are later thrown back together, after some distance and growth, to discover they’ve finally reached a stage where their love can bloom. But second chances aren’t only for relationships — they’re for books, too. Sometimes you read a book and for whatever reason, you just don’t connect with it. Then, time goes by, you return to the offending text and find that, wow, this book you’d written off is actually excellent, how did you not see that before?! These are some of my favorite reading experiences because they prove that reading — like romance — can be a messy, elastic, human endeavor. To celebrate that, here are two books that initially challenged me but that I later fell in love with. —MJ “Franny and Zooey,” by J.D. SalingerFiction, 1961
“Franny and Zooey” follows the two youngest members of Salinger’s recurring Glass family. In the first section, 20-year-old Franny is disenchanted by her boyfriend (she doesn’t actually like him); by her academic career (are her poetry professors even real poets?); by her peers (everyone seems to be following a script); and basically by the human condition (“I’m just sick of ego, ego, ego. My own and everybody else’s”). In the second, we follow 25-year-old Zooey as he reads a letter from their older brother Buddy, spars with their mother and tries to cheer up Franny, who is now back home suffering a nervous breakdown. I first read “Franny and Zooey” 10 years ago, and I have to tell you: I absolutely hated it. I especially hated Zooey, who is (let’s face it) pedantic, haughty and domineering in a way that borders on cruel. And I found the moral lesson of his section to be remarkably condescending. But when I revisited “Franny and Zooey” a few years later it suddenly dawned on me: Zooey is meant to be a flawed, irritating character; that’s part of his charm as the annoying youngest brother. Yes, he bloviates, but that’s just a mask to cover his deep earnestness. How had I missed that? Furthermore, I realized that my dislike of Zooey had kept me from recognizing Salinger’s genius in the book. Throughout, he’s funny, he’s generous, his character work is impeccable. Granted, the novel can be preachy — “Its extremely potent appeal,” Joan Didion wrote in a scathing review, “is precisely that it is self-help copy” — but honestly, who cares when the sermon amounts to one of literature’s most enduring portraits of existential distress? Read if you like: Characters like Eeyore from “Winnie-the-Pooh” and Sadness from “Inside Out”; the Christmas dinner episode of “The Bear.” “Universality,” by Natasha BrownFiction, 2025
Whew, did I struggle with “Universality” the first time I read it. But, in my defense, I was set up! The novel is a literary relay, with one core tale slowly developing as we move down a series of consecutive stories, each narrated from a different perspective, and each complicating what came before. It all starts with a shocking, brutal and deliciously symbolic burst of violence: In 2020, during Britain’s Covid lockdowns, the leader of an anticapitalist commune is bludgeoned by a disgruntled follower who wields, I kid you not, a gold bar. How’s that for a juicy hook? Brown’s debut novel, “Assembly,” was widely praised for its examination of race and nationality, so imagine my surprise when, 50 pages into “Universality,” I began asking myself: “Why does this book feel so clumsy?” Even though it turned out that the early awkward prose was an intentional gambit — merely the first of the novel’s tricks — it had already made me raise my guard, which is a terrible way to read. When I finished, I logically appreciated the book’s maneuvers, but emotionally, I felt suspicious and strained. And yet, I kept finding myself recommending the book. Capitalism and power are hard subjects to discuss without sounding stodgy, and here is a book that both thematically explores and formally dramatizes the way they influence our lives in obvious and subtle ways. A month after my first reading of “Universality,” I reread it. (It’s slim, only 150 pages.) This time I wasn’t frustrated at all. Instead, I just marveled at the ambition on every page. Read if you like: “Trust,” by Hernan Diaz; books by Ben Lerner; the podcast “Freakonomics.” We hope you’ve enjoyed this newsletter, which is made possible through subscriber support. Subscribe to The New York Times. Friendly reminder: Check your local library for books! Many libraries allow you to reserve copies online. Like this email? Sign-up here or forward it to your friends. Have a suggestion or two on how we can improve it? Let us know at books@nytimes.com. Plunge further into books at The New York Times or our reading recommendations.
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