Honestly, I don’t know what possessed me to start reading Chaucer’s The Canterbury Tales. Sure, I’ve read it before and I wasn’t that fond of it either. But I always felt ashamed by my not liking it that much.
It may be the verse thing. The same happened last year when I re-read Beowulf, and Lancelot, the Knight of the Cart. I don’t want to think that the problem is the Medieval period literature because I don’t want to give up reading medieval literature.
I did manage to laugh out loud more than once, and to recognize some influences in later writers, but most of all I found it cryptic. For me it’s quite shameful that I’m extremely moved by Romantic and Realistic narrative, but totally unmoved by Medieval one. Someday I’ll say why.
Or maybe, just maybe all lies in the fact that poetry is not my thing.