Why the Classics still cast a spell: reading backwards in the age of the algorithm

Browse through the bookish corners of Instagram or TikTok, and you’ll encounter a familiar pattern: glossy covers, rapid emotional claims, and an endless stream of “must-reads” that promise devastation, catharsis, or shocking twists. 

It sometimes feels that the language of the algorithm values sensation over subtlety. Amid this noisy chorus, the quiet, deliberate appeal of the classics becomes harder to hear, yet more essential than ever. It is the reason that we return to them. And while some say it's about nostalgia. It isn't that at all.

It’s about reclaiming depth. In a culture where reading is increasingly shaped by speed, aesthetics, and short-form opinions, the classics offer a valuable counterbalance. They call for something slower and deeper: sustained attention, nuanced interpretation, and emotional patience. There’s a reason writers like Homer, George Eliot, and James Baldwin continue to draw readers back. They don’t just endure. They evolve alongside us.

The past decade has brought a renewed fascination with these texts, not just in their original forms but through the imaginative energy of retelling. Madeline Miller’s Circe and The Song of Achilles brought ancient Greek myths into the emotional terrain of modern readers, illuminating familiar stories with feminist and queer perspectives. Pat Barker’s The Silence of the Girls re-centred The Iliad through the voices of those history had sidelined. And Emily Wilson’s translation of The Odyssey, the first English version by a woman, infused the text with clarity, lyricism, and a fresh ethical lens.

These reimaginings do more than make the classics accessible. They suggest that these stories still have things to say, but perhaps not in the voices they were first given. They challenge who gets to speak, and why, and how we understand legacy not as preservation but as reinterpretation.

Meanwhile, our relationship with reading is shifting under the weight of digital culture. When books become content, rapidly consumed, quickly judged, and promptly forgotten, the very act of lingering over a dense, layered novel becomes quietly radical. In this context, reading the classics feels less like a reverent retreat and more like a personal rebellion. A refusal to be sped up. A vote for complexity over convenience.

So why keep going back?

1. Timelessness: From betrayal and love to war and identity, the emotional terrain is as relevant now as it was then.

2. Intellectual lineage: Understanding these texts adds texture to our reading lives and shows how modern fiction builds upon older foundations.

3. Shifting perspective: Reading Baldwin or Eliot now may reveal things you missed in youth. The books haven’t changed—but you have.

4. Language as art: These works revel in craft. They slow us down with their beauty, precision, and rhythm.

5. Conversation across time: To read a classic is to sit with someone who saw the world differently—and listen.
Five classics worth revisiting, (especially when the digital noise grows too loud):

• The Odyssey by Homer (Emily Wilson’s translation)

• Middlemarch by George Eliot

• Giovanni’s Room by James Baldwin

• The Silence of the Girls by Pat Barker

• Circe by Madeline Miller

The truth is that the classics aren’t fixed. They shimmer and shift depending on who reads them, and when. They grow with us, argue with us, and surprise us. And sometimes, in a world that’s constantly refreshing itself, it’s the voice from centuries past that says what we didn’t know we needed to hear, compassionately, and just in time.