When I read Jane Eyre, I stalled for a full year between the opening part at the boarding school and the rest of the book.

I tend to dislike boarding-school openings in books, but the real problem was I found myself having to reread too many of Charlotte Brontë’s winding, multi-clausal, colon-encrusted sentences. Her writing is beautiful, but some sentences contained so many twists and detours that I would often lose the flow of them and have to take a second go. The book was clearly a special one, but whenever I looked at it I got tired at the thought of diving back in.

I finally regained traction by reading it aloud. I finished the whole book this way, which made it an unfettered joy. Because each of its complex Victorian sentences had to pass through my mouth, I found it easy to stay with their meaning and structure. The reading was slower, but much smoother, with very little doubling back. It felt like I was finally driving in the appropriate gear for the terrain.