This is not the author's fault. Their books are genuine responses to the inspiration of past accomplishment. Antiquity provides purpose because its distance allows for many axioms. Or it doesn't...precisely for the same reason. The choice rests with the individual, and those writers who craft books at the bidding of antiquity's poets and philosophers believe in the power of Greece and Rome's luminaries. So they pick up pens to praise these lights and hope thereby to inspire others to look in the same direction and stare at the same sun.
I am no less guilty than the others in this regard. I praise Greek and Roman thought and achievements. I find meaning in the remains of the ages and purpose in exhortation of long-dead poets and historians. But I do so because I know...in the sense Plato's Socrates in the Phaedrus emphasizes how writing tells a reader nothing new. If you know, you know it matters; if you don't know it matters, you don't care that you don't know.
Can a man survive without Homer's interruption into his existence? Undoubtedly, but he does so at a loss to the fullness of his existence. Still, only those who know Homer know that the man who doesn't know Homer is missing out. The ignorant dance blithely on.
Scholars and writers often work a lifetime to convey the ontology of their passions. The public is hardly ever interested in how much Homer, Horace, or Shakespeare matter to you or me...until the importance of Homer, Horace, or Shakespeare is made personal. Barring this, whatever magical journeys we happen to make while cultivating our literary loves are barely more than minor news dispatches on an already crowded page.
The goal, then, is showing primary importance; the nuances of love afterward invade on their own.