I've just finished given up reading James Joyce's 'Finnegan's Wake'. I love the writing; it flows and is very poetic. The trouble is that I don't understand a word of it, having been written by an alcoholic Irishman in the earth 20th century - it's rather difficult to understand by a meer mortal such as myself. This is how the book opens:

" riverrun, past Eve and Adam’s, from swerve of shore to bend of bay, brings us by a commodius vicus of recirculation back to Howth Castle and Environs.

Sir Tristram, violer d’amores, fr’over the short sea, had passen-core rearrived from North Armorica on this side the scraggy isthmus of Europe Minor to wielderfight his penisolate war: nor had topsawyer’s rocks by the stream Oconee exaggerated themselse to Laurens County’s gorgios while they went doublin their mumper all the time: nor avoice from afire bellowsed mishe mishe to tauftauf thuartpeatrick not yet, though venissoon after, had a kidscad buttended a bland old isaac: not yet, though all’s fair in vanessy, were sosie sesthers wroth with twone nathandjoe. Rot a peck of pa’s malt had Jhem or Shen brewed by arclight and rory end to the regginbrow was to be seen ringsome on the aquaface."

I struggled through this book for several hours but gave up. Apparently it's not meant to be understood, it's meant to be appreciated (to quote a friend). I am now reading his book "A Portrait of the artist as a young man" which is vastly more readable (to me at least) but still has the same breathtaking language.