I had a problem reading "Focault's Pendulum." It's in first person, and it's a translation, but I don't know if either of those had anything to do with me not liking it.
LMAO! When I was learning Italian and finally felt ready to read full-length books, I started with translations from modern English-language authors because that way I at least knew I'd understand the idioms and whatnot, but finally I felt brave enough to try my hand at reading a real Italian novel by an Italian author, so I headed down to the local bookstore and browsed the shelves for whatever looked intriguing. I chose two, a slim volume called "Novecento" (actually a monologue - a nifty story about a fellow who lived his entire life, birth to death, on a ship, taught himself the piano, and became this incredibly brilliant musician that people came from all over the world to hear because the only place he would play was on that same ship), and for afterward...
... Yep. "Foucault's Pendulum." All I knew about it before I began reading was the blurb on the back, and when I'd finished it, I can't say I knew much more. It was so confusing, and I didn't know anybody else who had read it who might be able to help me understand. There was just me, the book, and my crappy little translation dictionary.
If I ever stumble across another copy in Italian, I definitely want to try reading it again. My language skills back then simply weren't sufficient for the task I'd set them. I did read through the entire thing because I could understand individual scenes, and I kept feeling like there was something good there, if only I could wrap my brain around it. It's a hard feeling to describe, understanding juuust enough of something to know it's WORTH understanding, yet being unable to quite make that next step to actually getting it.''
The funny thing is, until just now, it never occurred to me that maybe it was just a really difficult read. I've always assumed my inability to fully grasp it was simply due to my sub-par language comprehension.