I did not want to read this book.

However, despite scouring local bookstores, the book I had originally chosen to review was nowhere to be found.

I inspected the prosaic, unexciting cover of Walden with fastidious distaste. Really? A classic? Don’t get me wrong, I love my Jane Austens and Rudyard Kiplings, but who was this alien author with the ridiculously long name and beard?

So you can see, Henry David Thoreau's Walden and I weren't immediately the best of friends. The fact that the first chapter was called “Economy” did nothing to endear it to me. Nevertheless, I began reading. Inexplicably, a few pages later I was chuckling appreciatively.

It seemed that this long-named writer had a fierce, sarcastic humor which made his autobiographical discourse amusing instead of tedious. I read on in fascination to find out more about this strange man, who abandoned city life for two years, two months, and two days to live in a house he made himself in the woods on the shore of Walden Pond in Concord, Massachusetts. His journey of independence began coincidentally on July 4, 1845, the anniversary of his nation’s independence.

Thoreau’s spiritual quest to reflect on simple living in natural surroundings landed him in this solitary spot in nature. What made his change of residence so meaningful and introspective? Usually, those on a quest seek to obtain an impossibly hidden “treasure” or to conquer the unconquerable. Thoreau's journey, however, focuses on exploring the human spirit and its flaws, limitations, and needs. The core of Thoreau's hypothesis is simplicity over complexity. Ever logical, he cites the reasons for this “experiment in living”: “to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.”

"Food, shelter, clothing and fuel," says Thoreau with confidence, are all that are needed to sustain a human. I found his argument on simplicity very interesting and compelling. He believes that, ironically, the luxuries which we strive to obtain actually detract from our happiness and contentment, and make our lifestyles far from luxurious. In essence, the author finds that the distractions of everyday life stifle our true selves and our true identities, and in his experiment he strips away these distractions to prove his hypothesis.

This idea was very thought-provoking for me, perhaps because it rang with truth. I began to wonder: could it be true that our notion of obtaining happiness through more luxuries is really just a myth? Maybe Thoreau is right, and we spend our entire lives searching for something that is already within us—our true selves and our intrinsic thoughts and instincts.

Walden is divided into 18 chapters, each exploring a different theme of transcendentalism, of which Thoreau is a messiah of sorts. Don't be boggled by this intimidating five-syllable word, because I definitely was at first, too. Ignoring Thoreau's disapproving grimace at my use of technology, I asked Guru Google, and learned that transcendentalism promotes self-reliance and freedom from societal bonds and restrictions, which impair spiritual thinking. The definition of transcendentalism also helped me to realize why Walden is really considered a classic. According to another Google search, a classic is a work of literature that defines a literary period, and Walden definitely played a part in defining this 19th-century literary and spiritual movement, which was essentially a retaliation against the intellectual and spiritual state at the time.

Interspersed in Thoreau’s memoir is his acerbic critique of society and the people who compose it. The entire experiment, in fact, seems to be done in defiance of society, to prove that it is something a person could live without.

Thoreau focuses in particular on conformity and society, condemning them to be evils which force individuals into "slave"-like living. He sees conformity and society to be a mindless squander of human spirit. Sometimes his non-conformist stance boils down to sheer civil disobedience, such as when Thoreau refuses to pay poll tax to a “state that buys and sells men, women, and children, like cattle at the door of its senate-house.” Thoreau is not ashamed of his ensuing incarceration; he is convinced he has taken a correct step against an exploitative system.

Behind these political overtones, the premise of simplicity remains, as Thoreau explores the "identity" forged by individualism instead of cultural or societal trends. Thoreau believes that allegiance to these institutions is tantamount to blindness, as they prevent people from finding their true callings. Knowledge of one’s calling, he believes, can only be achieved through meditation, reflection, simple labor, and observance of the the School of Nature.

Speaking of nature (since Thoreau seems to do a lot of it), Walden is almost as scientific as it is philosophical. Thoreau's naturalist writing, dense with metaphors and observations about the natural world, spares no detail. He breathes life into simple, ordinary parts of nature. Brawling ants, vivacious ponds—it seems as if the author wants to show us that all of our answers are in nature, if we would only care to look. Thoreau does not hesitate to educate his readers about the genus and species of various plants and animals, almost as if Homer and Animal Planet decided to collaborate.

It is these eccentric descriptions which made Walden such a strange classic for me, a kind I had not read before. Thoreau may be a champion for simplicity, but his writing style is definitely not. In a way, I think the precise details and fast-paced thoughts are deliberate—they keep the reader alert.

In his impressive journalistic style, Thoreau piles his descriptions extensively over each other, painting precisely the picture he wants his readers to see. It becomes slightly difficult, however, to keep up with his thoughts. In a single paragraph-long sentence, he can go from describing the weather to musing on the sanctity of the soul.

Reading Walden is like going into a trance. Thoreau is ever the unassailable narrator. He builds up so strong a case for his beliefs that you find yourself nodding in agreement. This is a man who can justify that philanthropy “does not agree with my constitution.” Not only did I not blame him for it, I actually enjoyed his attack on people who thought they were “good.”

What is it about this book, or rather this author, which lulls the reader into an almost hypnotism, where they cannot help but fervently agree with the writer’s controversial opinions? I believe it is Thoreau’s exceptional and undeniably alluring literary voice. From the very outset of the story, he whisks the reader into his world, a world which seems better than the one we live in. He also likes to confuse his readers, often using double entendres, satire, and conundrums to tease us. This made my reading experience slightly complicated, as at times it was hard to discern whether Thoreau was joking or not. However, I think the roundabout style is part of the writer’s charm, as if his book is a maze in which the reader gets lost.

At the very core of Walden is Thoreau’s powerful logic, a logic unlike the one we employ in our daily lives. It is a logic, I now understand, aimed at converting people to his Cause: simplicity and self-reliance. Personally, I find this cause very tempting. Thoreau's arguments are logical, his findings are convincing, and his overall message seems to be a positive one.

However, in the modern world, where technology and connectivity are centripetal forces in our life, I think Thoreau's teachings of universal simplicity may be very difficult to implement. Thoreau even predicted this societal trend. In one chapter, when he contemplates the nearby railway and its noises, he wonders whether robots will start to rule over mankind—remarkable foresight for a 19th-century writer, as concerns about artificial intelligence and its sliding growth have recently plagued debate rooms worldwide.

Sure, at face value Thoreau's idealism and logic seem rational and truly possible. But are they, really? Of course, leaving all of the crime and corruption, headaches and conflict of modern life sounds heavenly. However, I don't think I'm ready to give up the other stuff, which I actually really love, like Netflix and Snapchat. Perhaps this book was meant for a previous generation, one not so deeply entrenched into gadgetry and connectedness. Perhaps Thoreau missed the train.

As you may have guessed, Walden is not an easy book to read. Despite its uniqueness, it is still a classic written in 19th-century English, with ambitious vocabulary. The sentences are almost always long and multi-layered, as Thoreau has a tendency to shift from realism to philosophy so swiftly it is hard to discern where one ends and the other begins. He does not hesitate to use complex literary techniques and allegorical references. His descriptions, though enjoyable, are detailed and analytical. Therefore, this book is more suitable for slightly older readers, ages 15 and above. However, I think personal taste plays a greater role than age, so if you're thirteen and adore classics and philosophy, look no further!

I would give Walden four out of five stars. It is a truly fascinating book, and it gave me the chance to think about ideas I had previously never considered. Yes, Walden will challenge you. It will threaten to overturn all your notions about society and life, and make you laugh amusedly as you struggle. In the age of consumerism, technology, and economic divides, Walden is more pertinent than ever. “Simplicity, simplicity, simplicity!” Thoreau prescribes, chanting a mantra which at this point in the book you are willing to accept and adopt, and take your family and friends along for good measure. However, Walden is definitely not my definition of light reading. It takes a great deal of patience to keep up with and absorb Thoreau's ideas, to make sense of his allegories and metaphors, and to bear all his insults of modern life.

Hypnotism aside, some of Thoreau's arguments raise some important questions which you will ponder on long after the book has been read. What does it feel like to truly live? Is our complex lifestyle, our quest for luxury and plenty, making us forget the true nature of life? Is simple living the solution to inequality and economic disparity?

And most importantly, can Thoreau’s model of simple and individualistic living give us the happiness that so many of us lack?

When considering these questions, ask yourself this: do I have a specific goal in life? If you're thinking "money" or "comfort" or "I want to marry Ryan Reynolds/Emma Watson," it may seem like your life is on the right track. But think about what it all really comes to, and you'll begin to think of "happiness" or "contentment" or "peace." The pursuit of happiness is a subject hundreds of poets, philosophers and writers have pondered over. Thoreau is only one of them. And by Thoreau's model, the reason not many of us achieve these landmarks is that our approach is wrong.

If these questions are completely alien to you, as they were to me, I would strongly recommend reading Walden (and The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho, while you're at it). For now, all I can safely tell you is that Walden was far more complex than its simple, boring cover.