In the early days of Donald Trump’s presidency, I sought something to read that would take my mind off of the cascade of news in my Twitter feed. I remembered that the literary critic Edmund Wilson, suffering similar problems during the height of the Cold War, recommend Edward Gibbon’s epic history The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, published in six volumes from 1776 to 1789, as ideal relaxation “during periods of political strain.” As Wilson wrote to his friend Mamaine Koestler in 1950, “it always has a peculiar effect on me—both calming and stimulating.” Gibbon also received the commendation of a very different cultural maven, the rock star Iggy Pop, who in 1995 said reading The Decline and Fall made him “feel less tyrannized by the present day.”

Seeking such freedom from the oppression of contemporary events, I went to my bookshelves and found a long-ago purchased copy of the first volume of Gibbon’s work, some six hundred pages long. At first, the book offered nothing but delight. It was easy to get lost in Gibbon’s elegant and sonorous sentences, rife with sly irony and quotable aphorisms. “The various modes of worship, which prevailed in the Roman world, were all considered by the people, as equally true; by the philosopher, as equally false; and by the magistrate, as equally useful,” the historian wrote, a neat encapsulation of different attitudes towards religion.

Sinking myself into The Decline and Fall first felt like a warm bath, but turned into quicksand. After the lengthy and soothing opening survey, the narrative turned out to be a tale of mad emperors, feckless elites, the plundering of public wealth, the degradation of venerable political norms, and the rise of a military caste that became de facto government. This was hardly a break from news about Trump’s Washington. The escape I wanted was no escape at all, because I couldn’t help reading the eighteenth century classic through a contemporary prism.

I’m not the only one who wants a break from the news. The Trump era has excited a new wave of people indulging (or pretending to indulge) in the age-old fantasy of retreating from the modern world. These escapes, which vary in length from a few days to more than a year, have a pastoral bent: They often involve going off the grid, living off the land, or at the very least turning off the smartphone.

But as my experience with wading into The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire shows, it’s not easy to take a holiday from the news. Nor is it even desirable, as made clear by those who have taken more radical steps of late.