"In life we have no view of the whole: we see only bits and pieces here and there, and our view is quite distorted. What is near to us we look at with feverish subjectivity; what is not near to us we look at with more or less cold objectivity. Above all we fail to see the pattern. It is as if life were a great piece of tapestry and as if we looked at it from the wrong side, where the pattern is obscured by a maze of threads, most of which seem to have no purpose. Now a play of Shakespeare's is like a much smaller piece of tapestry, partly copied from the other but also... copied from the transcendent Original of the other, that Divine Harmony of which the temporal and spatial cosmos is a reflection, but of which it is merely reflection, whence the superficial discords which, for fallen man, give the lie to the profound beauty of the image as a whole-- a totality that he cannot see, being, by definition, cut off from the vision of it. The remarkable intensity of Shakespeare's copy is redoubled by the corresponding intensity of those who hear it and see it. ... Shakespeare holds out this smaller piece of tapestry to us in the theater, between ourselves and him. He is on the right side of it and we are again on the wrong side just as, unlike him, we are on the wrong side of the great tapestry of life. To begin with we look at the rather chaotic maze of threads with the same cold objectivity with which we view the threads of our neighbors' lives. But little by little, as the play goes on, we are drawn into it and become more and more bound up with its threads. Our cold objectivity vanishes and we feel the warmth of subjectivity.... By the closing of the play we have become objective once more, but with a higher objectivity that is completely different from the initial one; for Shakespeare has drawn us through the tapestry and out the other side, so that we now see it as it really is, a unity in which all parts fit marvelously together to make up a perfect whole."
This is in the last chapter of this book and (although I had to cut out a lot of truly beautiful parts) explains why to read Shakespeare beautifully. Why read literature any other way? Backing himself up with lines from the plays he discusses, Lings shows how Shakespeare is writing spiritual allegories, and the genius of how he, the bard that is, accomplishes this.
Although I did disagree with Lings once or twice with his conclusion, the way he reached the answers were all rather solid. (I feel like critics are allowed to disagree on how to interpret "Hamlet" even while reading things the same way. Northrop Frye, another student of C. S. Lewis whom I respect, comes out with the opposite conclusion that Lings does, and I love and respect both.) A few chapters left me either jumping around with glee or simply sitting and pondering the beauty of the cosmos, and all the rest left me itching to read more Shakespeare.
10 out of 5 stars. Even if you aren't exceptionally in love with Shakespeare and you don't think you ever will be, the first two chapters of this go into how to read in general and are spot on. I highly recommend.