The publicity for this delightful book is at pains to point out that its intended reader is not the cloistered academic, nor the aspiring literary critic, but one whom Virginia Woolf refereed to as ‘the common reader’, in a collection of essays with that name. Like her, Douglas-Fairhurst addresses himself not to the expert but to the ordinary man or woman who reads for pleasure and wants to enhance the experience of engaging with literature.
Disclosure: in theory I am not that reader, having been a teacher of English Literature in schools and universities for forty-six years. Nevertheless, I devoured this book with great relish, often with a nod, or a wave, or a handshake of agreement and recognition, and sometimes with the shade of a reservation or even disagreement (the latter but rarely). And that, as the author makes explicit, ‘is as it should be.’
For our engagement with literature, whether it be in the activity of reading – or talking about reading – is not a mere output/input transaction; it is, or should be, a kinetic, interactive, protean relationship. To get the most out of this relationship the reader should not be passive, but open to challenges, ready to accept that during a particular reading, attitudes, understandings, misunderstandings, opinions, evaluations may all change, and change again, that there are as many readings of a text as there are readers, most of them valid. You envision Heathcliff differently from me, and neither of us see him quite as Emily did. And so with Tess, and Humbert Humbert, and Peter Pan, and Pip, and Alice and Poirot. We all have different experiences of being in the world, and so it stands to reason that our imaginings of persons and places in our literary encounters will be unique. However, unless our personal inner realisation becomes unmoored from from that of the author – in which case our reading may turn out to be rather perverse – we will all concur in a fundamental core significance.
Incidentally, I was amused by Douglas-Fairhurst’s dismissal of an assertion by F. R. Leavis’s in writing about Keat’s ‘To Autumn’. Leavis suggests that the action of pronouncing ‘cottage-trees’ suggests ‘the crisp bite and the flow of juice as the teeth close in the ripe apple.’ The hell it does. I mention this because I remember thinking this absurd when I first encountered the critique in ‘The Common Pursuit’ (1952) as a lower-sixth former.
Douglas-Fairhurst goes on to say that our relationship with a text may change over time, not just because we have changed – I hesitate to say ‘matured’ – because our exposure to the world has been over a longer period of time and there has been more of it. This made me think of a principal idea in Eliot’s Tradition and the Individual Talent’ (1919) where he claims that ‘the introduction of a new work alters the cohesion of this existing order, and causes a readjustment of the old to accommodate the new.’ Probably this kind of homeostatic process obtains with the individual reader as with the culture as a whole.
But I am in danger of creating the wrong impression. This is an agreeably accessible book and not at all stuffy. Wordsworth feared that ‘we murder to dissect’. Not so here, Douglas-Fairhurst not only keeps the texts he examines alive. He breathes fresh life into them. Certainly the book is erudite: the sheer range of texts explored is phenomenal. He considers types of narrative, unreliable narrators, single and multiple voices, points of view, action and reaction, attraction and repulsion, rhetoric, metaphor, and a variety of metrical effects (he is particularly interesting on pauses, and the white spaces within a poem). But there is no soulless tick-box analysis here. On the contrary, the writing is lucid, witty and – if I can play with the grammar – often written with a ‘tricksy spirit’.
In fact, the modus operandi is highly individual. The book proceeds through addressing individual texts explored in short chapters which focus on salient aspects of the those texts. It doesn’t proceed through logical argumentation, but is rather progressive and cumulative. Freewheeling even. We return to certain texts in order to reconsider them in view of what we have learnt so far.
There are elements of autobiography: moving, distressing, uplifting, self-deprecating, but always candid, and often funny. We learn of the author’s early reading, and though the book is not chronological, we gradually encounter more challenging texts. We move from Peter Rabbit and the author’s injunction to ‘slow down’ to Proust and Gorge Eliot and the notion that reading can have a transformative effect on the reader.
I will conclude by thanking the author for recommendations for my reading list and the addition of the word ‘cratylic’ to my vocabulary.
When we stop learning we might as well be dead.