The Sound and the Fury, by William Faulkner.
This is the worst book I have ever read that wasn't written by a Russian. All right, I didn't read it all. I stopped around 40 pages in because life's too short for this nonsense. And here's the deal: after 40 pages I have no idea who the characters are, how they relate to each other, what they're doing, what time of year it is, or why I ought to care a whit about them. I know they're black and some are kids, but that's it. Notice this copy says "The Corrected Text." I hate to imagine what the uncorrected text looked like, or perhaps it made sense after some courageous editor got his hands on it. I bought this because I thought I ought to read a few more American classics before I die. To broaden my range of experience and education. If this is an example of American classics, I'll croak without such enlightenment.