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Let’s look at the novel Frankenstein, written in 1818 by Mary Shelley, and on the great-books list of many colleges. We put it down with new understandings of the world around us and, most important, of ourselves.

We may read it several times, as we do with our favorites, and each time it is like finding an old friend and gaining new insights from that friend.

The human condition is complex and contradictory, layered like an ice-cream parfait, with flavors blending among the layers. Our answer is that we don’t just read great books - they read us as well. What makes a novel more than entertainment? We recognize that some novels are entertaining, but leave no lasting impression.