By: Marita Murray
A lot of books about the Western canon carry themselves like guarded museums. You can practically hear the velvet rope sliding into place before you even finish the introduction. Great Works and Me takes the opposite approach. Richard Fallquist writes as if he genuinely wants ordinary people to feel welcome inside literature, music, painting, mythology, and philosophy instead of feeling threatened by them. That difference matters more than it sounds.
The book is built around a surprisingly simple observation. Most people are not avoiding the classics because they are lazy or incapable. They are avoiding them because somewhere along the way, culture became associated with embarrassment. People worry about reading the wrong translation, misunderstanding symbolism, listening to the “wrong” version of Beethoven, or exposing how little they know. Fallquist seems deeply aware of that insecurity, and instead of mocking it or flattening it into motivational slogans, he calmly works around it.
What makes the book effective is that it does not treat the canon like a sacred ranking system. Fallquist approaches great works as interconnected conversations stretching across centuries. A Greek myth bleeds into Renaissance painting. A novel echoes inside an opera. A symphony reshapes the emotional atmosphere of an era. He is constantly linking forms together in ways that feel intuitive rather than academic. The result is less like sitting through a lecture and more like walking through a city with someone pointing out hidden architectural details you would have otherwise missed.
Fallquist himself comes from an unusual background for this kind of project. After spending fifty years working as a consulting actuary, he turned toward cultural advocacy with the enthusiasm of someone rediscovering ideas that had quietly shaped his life all along. Oddly enough, that late career shift helps the book enormously. There is none of the professional critic’s territorial defensiveness here. He sounds like a person who learned these works because he loved them, not because he needed credentials attached to them.
The tone stays conversational throughout, sometimes almost wandering, but in a way that feels human rather than sloppy. Fallquist will move from literature to music to painting without warning, following thematic connections rather than a rigid academic structure. At times, the book feels like listening to an intelligent friend think out loud after dinner. Some readers looking for heavily footnoted criticism or dense historical analysis may find the framework too loose. Personally, I think that looseness is part of its charm. It lowers the psychological barrier that keeps so many people from engaging with the arts in the first place.
What I appreciated most was the absence of cultural snobbery. Fallquist repeatedly gives readers permission to begin imperfectly. He recommends accessible editions, recordings, museum resources, and entry points without making accessibility sound like an intellectual compromise. That generosity runs through the entire book. He understands that curiosity usually grows through invitation, not intimidation.
There is also something quietly moving about the project itself. A man who spends decades in a technical profession and later in life decides to advocate for literature, music, and art carries a message of intellectual renewal. The book never says this directly, but it lingers underneath every chapter. It is never too late to become a more attentive reader, listener, or observer.
By the end, Great Works and Me feels less like a syllabus and more like permission. Permission to approach the classics without fear of getting them wrong. Permission to wander slowly through culture instead of consuming it competitively. In a moment where so much discussion around art feels performative, Fallquist offers something refreshingly sincere.
Richard Fallquist’s Great Works and Me: Enhancing Your Life with Classics, Lit, Music, and Art explores how timeless works of culture can deepen everyday life and personal understanding. Readers can find the book on Amazon.
