Liza, I enjoyed this very much. I recently read again the introduction to Pale Fire; it made me laugh so many times. Great connection between Charles K. of Zembla and Edward S. of Columbia. One being harmless and one not.
An excellent article as always, Liza and it’s wonderful to see a Pens and Poison piece on Substack again! In any case, let’s dive into the substance of this piece. Literary critics keep misreading books because they veer away from the purpose of literature, universal moral themes and start imposing onto them the particular-making them about specific political or identity agendas.
As you show in the opening of this astute and compelling piece, it is perfectly valid to have multiple different interpretations of a novel as long as it stays within the bounds of universal moral messages and questions. But when you start interpreting into them thinks like class consciousness, empire, slavery, race, gender, sexuality, etc. you’ve no pun intended, lost the plot. Like that lady who thought Blue Snow was about “bad men.” Oy vey!
Edward Said was the father of this form of “literary criticism” where everything is about colonialism. Besides being a disgusting antisemite who hated Israel, he also poisoned the wonderful world of literature by starting post-colonial theory and reading into every piece of literature messages or themes the author never remotely intended. Like your example of him taking something barely referenced in Mansfield Park slavery, and claiming that’s what the whole book is about. Nabakov saw this tendency coming a mile away with his creation of the character Charles Kimbote in his novel Pale Fire.
It’s great to have you back on Substack! I missed your articles a lot and always appreciate your keen insight into literature and human nature. I also wanted to say that I appreciate you being so understanding and kind towards me as I have gone through my mental health struggles. I apologize for any confusion or distress I may have caused you as a result. I haven’t been the easiest person to deal with lately and I am grateful that you have been so gracious toward me. Lastly, I have a surprise for you. I’m am a officially a paid subscriber to Pens and Poison again! Whatever the state of the economy, rescuing the western literary tradition is more important. In closing, Nabakov was indeed a very wise dude. :)
I also find myself thinking about who gets to decide what books mean. Literary criticism often sounds neutral, like expertise floating above culture, but interpretation is shaped by lived experience. Perspective always enters the room.
For a long time, the loudest critical voices have come from fairly narrow educational and cultural pipelines. Major review outlets, elite universities, and publishing institutions have historically been dominated by white, Western critics. That does not invalidate their insights, but it does influence which lenses become “standard” and which interpretations get treated as serious versus sentimental, political versus universal, niche versus classic.
Scholars have used terms like the “white gaze” to describe how art and literature are often interpreted with white experience positioned as the default audience. Writers like Toni Morrison challenged this directly, asking what happens when Black stories are constantly measured against white frameworks rather than understood on their own terms. That question still matters.
When interpretive authority is concentrated, it can narrow the literary landscape. Some books get reduced to sociology while others get protected as art. Some themes get labeled political while others get called timeless. And young readers especially can come away thinking there is only one “smart” way to read a story.
I care about this because my work lives in communal reading spaces. In book conversations, I regularly see how differently a story lands depending on who is in the room. A parent reads for emotional truth. A student reads for identity. A teacher reads for craft. None of those approaches cancel each other out. They expand the book.
To me, the goal is not eliminating criticism or pretending authorial intent does not matter. It is widening the table. Letting more readers participate in meaning-making. Trusting that literature is sturdy enough to hold moral questions, aesthetic beauty, historical context, and lived experience all at once.
Books live many lives because readers do.
And the more voices we allow into the conversation, the more fully those lives unfold.
This essay definitely sparked a strong reaction in me. I agree that readers can sometimes walk into a book already armed with their own frameworks and miss the emotional or moral center the author may have intended. That tension between authorial intent and reader interpretation is real and worth wrestling with.
At the same time, I find myself less anxious about interpretive plurality. Literature has always lived many lives depending on who is reading and when. Context changes us, and we inevitably carry that context into the text. Sometimes that opens meaning rather than distorts it.
What I keep circling back to is balance. Close reading matters. Respect for craft matters. But so does acknowledging that books move through history and pick up new resonances along the way. A novel can be about moral formation and still reflect the social and political structures surrounding it.
Mostly, this piece reminded me how passionate people are about protecting the soul of literature. That care is something I deeply appreciate, even when I land differently on where interpretation should begin and how far it should go.
Thanks so much for your take, Chantel! I’ll quickly add here did acknowledge in my piece that there are multiple valid readings that go beyond what an author might have directly intended (that second third of readers I allude to). The problem, however, is that third group of readers who are blatantly wrong, and I do think there is a such thing as being blatantly wrong! At the end of the day, the author should have the final say about what his or her book is about, and the problem occurs when a reading is so far off the mark to be completely unrelated to the original work. I demonstrate this with my example from Blue Snow and Kinbote’s reading of Pale Fire. In both cases, “incorrect” readings certainly exist and tarnish the power of a work of literature—and we should be wary of such sloppy or ignorant readings. To say that all readings are equally as valid is to insult the author of a given work—because if anything goes, then we lose the idea of meaning as a whole.
Thanks for expanding on this. I do understand the concern you’re raising about readings that drift so far from the work that they no longer grow out of the text. Literature deserves careful attention, and interpretations that cannot point back to the language, structure, or world of the book can certainly feel thin or careless.
Where I continue to wrestle with the question is around the idea that the author has the final say about meaning. Once a book enters the world, it begins to live in the minds and experiences of readers in ways the author can no longer fully control.
For me the real boundary is the text itself. Readers can certainly move so far away from the work that the interpretation no longer holds. But when readers remain attentive to the language, structure, and tensions within the book, they often discover meanings that extend beyond what the author may have consciously intended.
I also hesitate to say that multiple interpretations “tarnish” a work. In my own reading life, the opposite is often true. When readers sit with a book together and notice different threads within it, the text tends to deepen rather than dissolve.
For me that ongoing conversation is part of the life of literature. Once a work enters the world, it belongs not only to the author, but also to the community of readers who continue to wrestle with it. So appreciate being able to think through this in community. It is something that deserves attention.
Very interesting essay Liza - one of your best. You often mention tendencies in literary criticism that you do NOT care for (Edward Said's work being the #1 example perhaps). Question for you though: I know you're an admirer of T.S. Eliot, and I agree that his critical essays are very interesting. What about critics after, say, 1950: are there any scholars, critics or even specific books/articles that you *would* hold up as good examples of the way you think criticism should be done? Northrop Frye? (he was one of my idols in grad school days in the late 70s) M.H. Abrams? Susan Sontag? Harold Bloom? Erich Auerbach? F R Leavis? Michiko Kakutani?
I would push back slightly regarding Said, only that I think his work is over-used in the current post-colonial frenzy because one can "skim" aspects of it without having to read Orientalism (which many will never do). So he gets "used" for some sensational aspects of his work, whilst the better parts of his criticism are ignored.
There is value in Orientalism because I find his interpretation of orientalisation to be very true, although becoming more and more outdated these days. Nevertheless, I find him to be "butthurt" in regards how he treats west!
None of James's contemporaries, for instance, took "Turn of the Screw" to be anything but what he clearly stated it to be: a ghost story.
The first person to claim that the governess was deranged was a critic named Edmund Wilson. He was also the writer of a review of LOTR that was titled, "Oo Those Awful Orcs!"
One suspects that he just was casting the genre past the pale, and since he couldn't remove "Turn" from the canon, he had to remove it from the genre.
Writers like Edward Said ought to be called Distortionists. There ought to be a category for literary abuse in which to include BDSM porn garbage of Wuthering Heights movie.
Hmm. That Mansfield Park passage has 3 em dashes. Austin shews herself to be AI! That established, I interpret this essay and induce how you freed yourself from your attraction to bad men (pouting eyes, wicked brow) as you otherwise build great points with details of substance and interest. Less impishly, I wonder if we (go team) can leave room for delicious ambiguities that can evoke and suggest meanings the author is vaguely aware of or shies away from. Here's where I need a good example. Anna Kavan's ICE, Kay Dick's THEY. (https://mosby.substack.com/p/anna-kavan-and-kay-dick-english-novelists). Good luck with your novel--it's clear to me, although I don't know the path, you have earned a destiny of success.
Liza, I enjoyed this very much. I recently read again the introduction to Pale Fire; it made me laugh so many times. Great connection between Charles K. of Zembla and Edward S. of Columbia. One being harmless and one not.
I recently read Susan Sontag’s “Against Interpretation” and found it refreshing. And yes, Sontag and Said had their problems with each other!
An excellent article as always, Liza and it’s wonderful to see a Pens and Poison piece on Substack again! In any case, let’s dive into the substance of this piece. Literary critics keep misreading books because they veer away from the purpose of literature, universal moral themes and start imposing onto them the particular-making them about specific political or identity agendas.
As you show in the opening of this astute and compelling piece, it is perfectly valid to have multiple different interpretations of a novel as long as it stays within the bounds of universal moral messages and questions. But when you start interpreting into them thinks like class consciousness, empire, slavery, race, gender, sexuality, etc. you’ve no pun intended, lost the plot. Like that lady who thought Blue Snow was about “bad men.” Oy vey!
Edward Said was the father of this form of “literary criticism” where everything is about colonialism. Besides being a disgusting antisemite who hated Israel, he also poisoned the wonderful world of literature by starting post-colonial theory and reading into every piece of literature messages or themes the author never remotely intended. Like your example of him taking something barely referenced in Mansfield Park slavery, and claiming that’s what the whole book is about. Nabakov saw this tendency coming a mile away with his creation of the character Charles Kimbote in his novel Pale Fire.
It’s great to have you back on Substack! I missed your articles a lot and always appreciate your keen insight into literature and human nature. I also wanted to say that I appreciate you being so understanding and kind towards me as I have gone through my mental health struggles. I apologize for any confusion or distress I may have caused you as a result. I haven’t been the easiest person to deal with lately and I am grateful that you have been so gracious toward me. Lastly, I have a surprise for you. I’m am a officially a paid subscriber to Pens and Poison again! Whatever the state of the economy, rescuing the western literary tradition is more important. In closing, Nabakov was indeed a very wise dude. :)
I also find myself thinking about who gets to decide what books mean. Literary criticism often sounds neutral, like expertise floating above culture, but interpretation is shaped by lived experience. Perspective always enters the room.
For a long time, the loudest critical voices have come from fairly narrow educational and cultural pipelines. Major review outlets, elite universities, and publishing institutions have historically been dominated by white, Western critics. That does not invalidate their insights, but it does influence which lenses become “standard” and which interpretations get treated as serious versus sentimental, political versus universal, niche versus classic.
Scholars have used terms like the “white gaze” to describe how art and literature are often interpreted with white experience positioned as the default audience. Writers like Toni Morrison challenged this directly, asking what happens when Black stories are constantly measured against white frameworks rather than understood on their own terms. That question still matters.
When interpretive authority is concentrated, it can narrow the literary landscape. Some books get reduced to sociology while others get protected as art. Some themes get labeled political while others get called timeless. And young readers especially can come away thinking there is only one “smart” way to read a story.
I care about this because my work lives in communal reading spaces. In book conversations, I regularly see how differently a story lands depending on who is in the room. A parent reads for emotional truth. A student reads for identity. A teacher reads for craft. None of those approaches cancel each other out. They expand the book.
To me, the goal is not eliminating criticism or pretending authorial intent does not matter. It is widening the table. Letting more readers participate in meaning-making. Trusting that literature is sturdy enough to hold moral questions, aesthetic beauty, historical context, and lived experience all at once.
Books live many lives because readers do.
And the more voices we allow into the conversation, the more fully those lives unfold.
This essay definitely sparked a strong reaction in me. I agree that readers can sometimes walk into a book already armed with their own frameworks and miss the emotional or moral center the author may have intended. That tension between authorial intent and reader interpretation is real and worth wrestling with.
At the same time, I find myself less anxious about interpretive plurality. Literature has always lived many lives depending on who is reading and when. Context changes us, and we inevitably carry that context into the text. Sometimes that opens meaning rather than distorts it.
What I keep circling back to is balance. Close reading matters. Respect for craft matters. But so does acknowledging that books move through history and pick up new resonances along the way. A novel can be about moral formation and still reflect the social and political structures surrounding it.
Mostly, this piece reminded me how passionate people are about protecting the soul of literature. That care is something I deeply appreciate, even when I land differently on where interpretation should begin and how far it should go.
Thanks so much for your take, Chantel! I’ll quickly add here did acknowledge in my piece that there are multiple valid readings that go beyond what an author might have directly intended (that second third of readers I allude to). The problem, however, is that third group of readers who are blatantly wrong, and I do think there is a such thing as being blatantly wrong! At the end of the day, the author should have the final say about what his or her book is about, and the problem occurs when a reading is so far off the mark to be completely unrelated to the original work. I demonstrate this with my example from Blue Snow and Kinbote’s reading of Pale Fire. In both cases, “incorrect” readings certainly exist and tarnish the power of a work of literature—and we should be wary of such sloppy or ignorant readings. To say that all readings are equally as valid is to insult the author of a given work—because if anything goes, then we lose the idea of meaning as a whole.
Thanks for expanding on this. I do understand the concern you’re raising about readings that drift so far from the work that they no longer grow out of the text. Literature deserves careful attention, and interpretations that cannot point back to the language, structure, or world of the book can certainly feel thin or careless.
Where I continue to wrestle with the question is around the idea that the author has the final say about meaning. Once a book enters the world, it begins to live in the minds and experiences of readers in ways the author can no longer fully control.
For me the real boundary is the text itself. Readers can certainly move so far away from the work that the interpretation no longer holds. But when readers remain attentive to the language, structure, and tensions within the book, they often discover meanings that extend beyond what the author may have consciously intended.
I also hesitate to say that multiple interpretations “tarnish” a work. In my own reading life, the opposite is often true. When readers sit with a book together and notice different threads within it, the text tends to deepen rather than dissolve.
For me that ongoing conversation is part of the life of literature. Once a work enters the world, it belongs not only to the author, but also to the community of readers who continue to wrestle with it. So appreciate being able to think through this in community. It is something that deserves attention.
The problem with modern-day literary critics is that they have been taught to regard works not as windows but as mirrors.
Very interesting essay Liza - one of your best. You often mention tendencies in literary criticism that you do NOT care for (Edward Said's work being the #1 example perhaps). Question for you though: I know you're an admirer of T.S. Eliot, and I agree that his critical essays are very interesting. What about critics after, say, 1950: are there any scholars, critics or even specific books/articles that you *would* hold up as good examples of the way you think criticism should be done? Northrop Frye? (he was one of my idols in grad school days in the late 70s) M.H. Abrams? Susan Sontag? Harold Bloom? Erich Auerbach? F R Leavis? Michiko Kakutani?
Great read, very accessible.
I would push back slightly regarding Said, only that I think his work is over-used in the current post-colonial frenzy because one can "skim" aspects of it without having to read Orientalism (which many will never do). So he gets "used" for some sensational aspects of his work, whilst the better parts of his criticism are ignored.
There is value in Orientalism because I find his interpretation of orientalisation to be very true, although becoming more and more outdated these days. Nevertheless, I find him to be "butthurt" in regards how he treats west!
Oh, and, you taught me a new word: perspicacity.
Agendas are a grave danger. Even literary ones.
None of James's contemporaries, for instance, took "Turn of the Screw" to be anything but what he clearly stated it to be: a ghost story.
The first person to claim that the governess was deranged was a critic named Edmund Wilson. He was also the writer of a review of LOTR that was titled, "Oo Those Awful Orcs!"
One suspects that he just was casting the genre past the pale, and since he couldn't remove "Turn" from the canon, he had to remove it from the genre.
Writers like Edward Said ought to be called Distortionists. There ought to be a category for literary abuse in which to include BDSM porn garbage of Wuthering Heights movie.
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=BATPzXjmV_s&pp=ygUfbWV0cm9wb2xpdGFuIGxpdGVyYXJ5IGNyaXRpY2lzbQ%3D%3D
Hmm. That Mansfield Park passage has 3 em dashes. Austin shews herself to be AI! That established, I interpret this essay and induce how you freed yourself from your attraction to bad men (pouting eyes, wicked brow) as you otherwise build great points with details of substance and interest. Less impishly, I wonder if we (go team) can leave room for delicious ambiguities that can evoke and suggest meanings the author is vaguely aware of or shies away from. Here's where I need a good example. Anna Kavan's ICE, Kay Dick's THEY. (https://mosby.substack.com/p/anna-kavan-and-kay-dick-english-novelists). Good luck with your novel--it's clear to me, although I don't know the path, you have earned a destiny of success.