What Is a Good Book?

In an earlier essay I reflected on whether it was better to read or to watch television, concluding that the question is more complicated than we bibliophiles often admit. Now I would like to consider the question of “what is a good book”?

First we have to clarify what “good” and “bad” mean in this context. For example, we recognize that “good” applied to food might mean either “healthy”or “tasty” in another—and the best food would be both healthy and delicious. (On the other end of the spectrum would be Qwiky Mart food bought in desperation while on a road trip: generally both unhealthy and barely edible).

With books, we can consider the artistic merit of the book (how well it is written) and how nourishing it is for healthy intellectual and spiritual growth (how good it is for the reader).

Thus, by “good books” I am being fairly specific: books that are both artistically good (well written) and good for you (morally sound as well as spiritually or intellectually nourishing).

By “bad books” I mean books that are harmful to you (or to other people because of what they lead you to believe or do), whether or not they are artistically good.

We end up with a large middle category as well: books that are artistically good, but innocuous, having neither good nor ill effect; books that are artistically bad, but are either good for you, or innocuous (I am willing to cut some slack for books that are good in their content, but badly written); and lastly, the vast deserts of bland, forgettable books that are neither particularly good nor memorably bad, and which have nothing particular to say. Volume 12 in some fantasy rip-off of a third-generation copy of Lord of the Rings, with a quest for the One Widget instead of the One Ring, would fall into this category – and I say that as a lifelong reader of fantasy. (The landscape of fantasy literature is that of a vast, dreary plain with occasional unscaleable mountains of striking beauty and originality appearing on the horizon: Mount Tolkien, Mount Narnia, the Dunsanian Alps, and so on. There are reasons for this, but I won’t go into them now.)

A common misconception about “good writing” is that it is “literary” – the sort of thing professors put on their literature syllabi but no one ever reads for fun. No! In fact, the real test of good writing is that it is pleasure to read: it gives more to the reader than lesser writing. (However, this demands a skilled reader; if you don’t know the vocabulary or don’t have the attention span to follow a complex sentence, you won’t enjoy Great Expectations, and it won’t be Dickens’ fault. It will be your fault, dear reader.)

That said, there has been a certain trend in literary and academic circles to praise inaccessibility as though it were a virtue: if it’s hard to read, and impossible to figure out, and probably depressing, it must be Great Art. Well, no. One of the reasons the Western canon of literature is so valuable is that it shows us what generations of readers have found to be valuable: the books that are part of the canon are thoroughly battle-tested for readabilty (with skill and persistence on the part of the reader!), quality of writing, and value of content.

I will go on the record as saying that I believe James Joyce’s Finnegans Wake is a gigantic blot on the credibility of the literary establishment in this regard. It may be an interesting look into Joyce’s psyche, but great literature it is not. Literature, even, it is not, because it is not readable. Sorry, but no.

So: our argument thus far is that not all content is equally good. That there are bad TV shows is hardly to be denied. Television has some high points, but for the most part it ranges from insipid to toxic (as in, morally corrupting). That said, there are good television programs and there are ones that are inoffensive, if not actually bad. For example, Stargate SG-1 is not going to enter the annals of Great Art, but it was an entertaining, reasonably intelligent, and morally sound program. Seinfeld is a work of absolute comic genius, but it really had no substantial content other than to reflect the hidden peculiarities of modern culture back at us, distorted into recognizability.

Not all books are the same – and we have a limited lifespan in which to read them. Thus, every book read has an opportunity cost: we could be reading some other book, one that perhaps is better in some way.

There are an awful lot of books in the world – good, bad, and indifferent. In fact, there are enough books in each category for someone to read either great stuff or trash exclusively.

So it’s worth looking for the best books – the ones that are both enjoyable and nourishing – and it’s worth learning how to read those books (because learning to appreciate richness and subtlety takes time and practice). A whole world – a whole universe! – of great books awaits.

Related posts:

1. Developing a Taste for Good Books