Because I went to a private Christian school in Canada, many of these classics (1984, Catcher in the Rye, Lord of the Flies, Great Expectations, etc.) weren't mandatory, as the school had its own material to teach us, and even then, we only ended up reading one novel per year:
Grade 9 - Book of the Dun Cow. Kind of interesting. Kind of. Really bizarre. Something about a rooster being the protector of a chicken coop and there being some massive worm in the world that was going to kill everything. I wasn't impressed, but it was dead simple to analyze and write an essay on, so I didn't mind so much.
Grade 10 - To Kill a Mockingbird. The only real "classic" I was ever forced to study. I thought it was an intriguing premise, if the setting was a bit bland and hard to relate to. I was taught a very skewed version of Canadian history, so the setting of the southern US during the Depression (I think that's the correct time period) was completely lost on me.
Grade 11 - The Chosen. Here's where things take a huge nosedive. This is a book about two Jewish boys growing up in New York during World War 2. Nothing of any significance ever happens in the entire book. The conflict is entirely based around the two boys deciding if they want to do what their fathers want or not, and that just seemed so contrived and petty - it had no impact at all. I thought the whole thing just bad.
Grade 12 - The Stone Angel. This is one of the worst books I have ever, EVER read. Its a holdover from the 60 and 70s when Canadians were afraid of losing their "Canadian-ness" to America, so Canadian schools taught stuff by Canadian authors. This book is about a dying old woman suffering from senile dementia. The whole book is her recounting the extremely depressing tale of her life, leading up to a last page epiphany. 10 chapters of needless crap, ending in her trying to do one good thing before she dies. The worst part was, my teacher tried to spin it as if the book was about hope and fulfilled life, and that the author was trying to teach us life lessons. Never mind that the author was apparently an alcoholic chain smoker with manic depression who ended up committing suicide, and the only way the book could be about hope was if you took it as a warning (i.e. never marry someone named Bram Shipley on impulse).
I also had to study four plays by Shakespeare (Romeo and Juliet, Macbeth, A Midsummer's Night Dream, and Hamlet), but I love Shakespeare, so those were no problem.