This doesn't really belong on the "read" shelf so much as an "attempted" shelf. A friend who couldn't finish it let me take a look at it since it's considered a classic, and it was on my mental to-read list. I made it about 4 or 5 pages before I just said "Fuck this shit." (She actually made it through 3 chapters before throwing in the towel). 
 Why such a quick dismissal, you may ask? The language. There are a million made up words in the first few pages alone. William Burroughs states on the back of the book "I do not know of any other writer who has done as much with language as Mr. Burgess has done here." I wholeheartedly agree, although Mr. Burroughs meant it as a compliment; I don't. The language in question must be gobbledegook, for it certainly wasn't English. 
 There's an old Italian proverb that states "There is no thief like a bad book." I decided not to let this one rob me when I have so many other books that I actually want to read. I may try this one again in the future, but for right now it's at the very bottom of the pile if it's in the pile at all.