To us avid readers, it's oh-so-obvious that there are many, many, many more books in the world than a single human could ever read. Maybe that's why so many of us find ourselves constantly on the fence about whether long books are actually worth the time they take to read. And if you're someone who feels morally obligated to finish anything they start (my hand's up), then you know the stakes are sky high. Let's be honest: you don't just pick up Infinite Jest willy nilly.
Truthfully, deciding to read a long book requires some calculus, but I dare say that deciding to read a long romance novel uses different math. Romance novels ask to be devoured, so once you begin one — no matter how long it might be — the pages seem to fly by. Even if these books weigh more than your lunchbox, you can be sure you'll gobble them right up.
The key to finishing a long-ass romance novel is, of course, following your heart. Reader, let me be clear: the time for Jane Eyre is not always upon you. However. When that time does come, if you give yourself over to Ms. Brontë, you know you're sure to be rewarded. After all, there's nothing quite so satisfying as finishing a monolithic book.
'Jane Eyre' by Charlotte Brontë
507 pages of utter quotability:
“All my heart is yours, sir: it belongs to you; and with you it would remain, were fate to exile the rest of me from your presence forever.”
'The Thornbirds' by Colleen McCullough
Forbidden love, Australian sheep country, and the secret mechanisms of the Vatican comprise this 692 pager.
'Dragonfly In Amber (Outlander #2)' by Diana Gabaldon
This 743 page novel is the sequel to Outlander, another epic romance that shows that true love can defy even the boundaries of time and space.
'Gone With The Wind' by Margaret Mitchell
OK so this is more of a historical novel than romance, but at 1037 pages, frankly, my dears, you will give a damn about their love lives.
'Possession' by A.S. Byatt
A relatively slim 555 pages, Possession is a love story about passion and intellect. The writing is a wonder:
“They took to silence. They touched each other without comment and without progression. A hand on a hand, a clothed arm, resting on an arm. An ankle overlapping an ankle, as they sat on a beach, and not removed. One night they fell asleep, side by side... He slept curled against her back, a dark comma against her pale elegant phrase.”
