Classic Books You Might’ve Missed — But Shouldn’t
So you made it through the first five classics I said you should’ve read in high school—or maybe you didn’t, because high school was a chaotic blur of acne, awkwardness, and CliffNotes. That’s okay. Because here we are again, with five more essential reads that you were probably assigned… or probably dodged. Either way, they deserve a real shot—now that you’re old enough to (mostly) understand metaphors and moral nuance.
To Kill a Mockingbird
(by Harper Lee)
For some god-awful reason, To Kill a Mockingbird is considered a taboo book in many American high schools today. Never mind that it’s one of the most celebrated novels of the 20th century—or that it courageously tackles themes of racism, injustice, and moral conscience. The American Library Association has listed it among its top 10 most challenged books multiple times since its publication in 1960.
There are valid critiques of the novel. The language is dated. The perspective is limited. And yes, the “white savior” trope is very much a thing. But I’d argue that’s exactly why it’s worth reading. It’s a jumping-off point for critical thinking—for examining how far we’ve come and how far we haven’t.
It was taken off my district’s curriculum before I got to 10th grade, so I didn’t read it until my late twenties. And wow. It floored me. Some chapters were hard to read. Some ideas were hard to sit with. But that discomfort? That’s where the learning happens.
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
(by William Shakespeare)
You probably remember this one as the “fairy love triangle” play you had to act out in freshman English class. But A Midsummer Night’s Dream is so much more than magical hijinks in the forest.
It’s one of Shakespeare’s most performed comedies—but it’s also a sharp meditation on love, illusion, identity, and agency. It toys with the idea that love is irrational, unpredictable, and often absurd (still true). It also contains surprisingly forward-thinking commentary on gender roles and consent—especially for something written in the 1590s.
It’s whimsical. It’s chaotic. And it holds up remarkably well. Plus, it’s short. Like, actually short.
The Importance of Being Earnest
(by Oscar Wilde)
Think of this one as the Seinfeld of classic plays: it’s about nothing—but somehow everything at the same time. Wilde’s biting satire of Victorian society is fast-paced, sharp-tongued, and outrageously funny.
There’s mistaken identity, absurd romantic entanglements, and enough quotable lines to make your group chat jealous. Wilde’s commentary on class, marriage, and social hypocrisy feels surprisingly modern. If you’ve ever loved a well-crafted sitcom, you owe Oscar Wilde a thank-you.
Also: it’s the rare classic that will have you laughing out loud—and not just because you’re trying to impress someone on a date.
Heart of Darkness
(by Joseph Conrad)
Heart of Darkness is dense, unsettling, and often misremembered as “that book with the boat.” But it’s one of the most important (and controversial) novels in the Western canon for a reason.
At its core, Conrad’s novella confronts the brutality of imperialism—and the illusion of so-called “civilization.” He explores how quickly moral codes can collapse when power and greed take over. He asks: Are we really that different from the people we colonize—or are we just better at hiding our savagery?
Yes, the prose is heavy. Yes, it deserves thoughtful critique for its racial imagery. But if you can push through, you’ll uncover a powerful (and still-relevant) meditation on dehumanization and the murkiness of moral superiority.
Also, bonus points: it inspired Apocalypse Now.
The Old Man and the Sea
(by Ernest Hemingway)
Ah, Hemingway. The king of short sentences, big themes, and emotionally repressed men. The Old Man and the Sea is his minimalist masterpiece—and it’s deceptively simple.
Old man. Big fish. Long fight. That’s it, right?
Well… not quite.
Underneath the sparse prose is a profound meditation on purpose, pride, aging, and resilience. Santiago’s struggle with the marlin isn’t just about catching dinner—it’s about proving to himself that he still matters. That he still can.
It’s a story about losing, but losing with dignity. About pain, persistence, and the weird nobility in failure. And in an era that often glorifies endless success, there’s something deeply honest—and humbling—about that.
Final Thoughts
If you missed these books in high school, don’t worry. They’re still waiting on the shelf—quiet, patient, and ready to ruin you (in the best way). And if you did read them? Maybe it’s time to revisit them with fresh eyes and a little more life under your belt. I promise, they hit different now.
Want a part three? Let me know which books haunted—or enlightened—you in English class. Let’s keep the conversation going.