By 
It has become a small sport to point out that Henry David Thoreau's experiment in simple living took place two miles from town, on a friend's land, with regular visits home for dinner. All true. None of it makes Walden a worse book.
Walden is not a manual for living in a cabin. It is an accounting: of time, of money, of attention. Thoreau literally lists what he spent on nails and beans. The question underneath every page is what a life costs, and whether we are paying for things we never chose.
What holds up
The economy chapter is still bracing. Long before anyone talked about burnout, Thoreau noticed people working to afford the things that kept them working. His answer was to want less; you do not need a pond to try that for a week.
I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately.
The nature writing holds up too, especially the chapters on the pond in winter, where he measures the depth of the pond through the ice and records the colours of the water like a painter mixing them.
What does not
The sermonising wears thin, and the cheerful contempt for his neighbours is not a good look. Read the book with a pencil; you will want to argue.
Verdict
Skim the preaching, slow down for the seasons. Walden is best read in pieces, a chapter at a time, outside if you can manage it.
