Marc Barclay

Cover letter
Firstly, I decided to deviate from the decision made by Maria Popova to exclude the self from
discussing the advice and ruminations of the other authors. This was intentional, as rather than provide
a structure for other opinions to utilize, informing the reader of a number of positions on reading and
writing, I wanted to frame the piece around my considerations for qualities in best books, additionally
adding in examples of the first person and personal opinion where appropriate. One will also notice that
my quote to discussion ratio differs, as Popova prefers to let the quotes mostly speak for themselves,
whereas my goal of relating best books to thoughts of a related yet different nature mean that more
explanation on my part is required (although this is also a symptom of my selfish emphasis on my role
in the discussion, as well as the fact that I like to talk).
However, I take after Maria Popova in that I try to make ample use of long quotes of authors
and other sources without fear of overloading the reader with a large block of someone else's material.
After all, this should ideally be less of an essay or paper and more of a textual conversation, casting
aside traditional paper formats with theses and clear intro, body, concluding paragraphs. Popova clearly
agrees, for she takes care to allow a flow of ideas to occur, seamlessly transitioning from quote to quote
by using her own dialogue to introduce the next set of new ideas that still relate back to the previous
quote. In other words, there should be no quotational non-sequitur. Lastly, I attempted to establish
appeals mostly to logos and ethos through evidence-based conclusions (deriving answers that can be
backed up by the author's quote), literal statistics at one point, and regarding the latter, introducing the
author at hand with a mention of an accomplishment or title. It is my intent that the reader note these
decisions while still extracting the messages within, focusing mostly on the points while keeping an eye
on stylistic and rhetorical liberties.

A Conversation on Readers, Writers, and Best Books

The evaluation of a list of best books is Sisyphean at best, perhaps even impossible, yet the attempt
itself can illuminate what literary characteristics are most important to society as well as the individual.
Of course, the singular human holds personal preferences which dictate which properties take
precedence over others, which explains the apparent difference in both taste and aspects valued, thus
leaving the resulting criteria for a best book suitable only for said person. Besides, the overall
unreliability of the human race to self-evaluate sheds doubt on the possibility to average out a list of
criteria obtained through surveying a given population, for how is each individual to truly know what
qualities they look for in a novel when each has only read a cup's worth of the sea that is all the world's
books? It is when one analyzes a list of books already universally hailed as classics and bests for
similarities that one can begin to discuss which qualities truly matter, leading then to sequence of
criteria appropriate for deducing bests.
In order to logically deduce likely characteristics of a best book, a researcher or group must locate a
viable source of data and perform analyses to pursue trends and patterns. One such attempt at
compiling data from a list of renowned literary works comes from J. Peder Zane, a former New York
Times reporter who currently writes for Raleigh, North Carolina's The News & Observer. In 2006, Zane
surveyed 150 authors for their personal take on the top ten greatest pieces of fiction, and he noticed a
striking trend: the vast majority of top choices were written during the twentieth century. In fact,
authors chose a significant larger number of works deriving from the latter half of the 1900s over those
written prior, suggesting that perhaps the age of the book or story correlates with its perception as an
all-time important piece.
These results reveal that factors beyond subjective questions of quality inform the selection
process. Aesthetics and timeless moral truth matter. But if those were the most important criteria
for judging literary merit, then wed have to conclude that the dawn of the 20th century and,

more specifically, the period since 1975 has been an unparalleled golden age for literature, far
surpassing that of any other era.
As to an explanation for this phenomenon, Zane turns to physics for his answer.
To explain why I need to tell you about a first principle of physics discovered in 1996 by
Professor Adrian Bejan of Duke University: the constructal law (Adrian and I wrote a book
about his work, Design in Nature). It holds that everything that moves from lightning bolts
and rivers to information generates designs (shape and structure) that facilitate their flow. [...]
These designs evolve with a direction in time reconfiguring themselves to move more mass
per unit of useful energy.
Essentially, time sieves through a general list of works held in high regard, and those remembered are
those that possess whatever essence makes a classic. One could perhaps liken it to literary Darwinism.
Later in the essay, Zane expounds upon the purpose, or more accurately lack thereof, of prestigious
book awards.
Finally, this insight helps explain why we often scratch head when we see the cavalcade of now
forgotten works and little read authors who were honored with Pulitzers and Nobels. Those
awards are not predictions of immortality; they are not one generations best guess about what
will matter to future readers. They are statements from people in a particular era about what
they considered the most useful works, however they defined that.
One could make the argument that special recognition of a novel increases its likelihood of being a best
book, but that would ignore the probable biases exhibited by award judges who are from a certain time
period and are assessing works written relatively recently. On a related note, literary scholar Samuel M.
Macey further discusses the implications of the reading population on the classification of a book as
being a best.
What really makes a best book is the reader. Some readers like stories where you dont have to
put a lot of thought into it. Other readers like to be pushed.

Glancing at the surface of this quote, it at first appears that Macey is merely bisecting readers into two
archetypes: those who expect authors to feed them with a silver spoon and the others that ask the author
for a plow with which they can sow the seeds of their own knowledge. However, this quote contains a
higher-level meaning. In reality, Macey has added a new dimension to the discussion on best books
simply by acknowledging the existence of different types of readers. While this discovery might seem
obvious, the ramifications it has on narrowing down a list of sublime literary works are tremendous.
Take the following quote:
A best book has a best reader. By determining readers who have ever[sic] qualification for
identifying a good book, you can use their knowledge to determine best books.
Indeed, as Macey implies, not all works are intended to be understood by the masses, who would
usually be found ingesting popular novels heralded in some best sellers list. In fact, one must take into
consideration academic distaste for much of the popular status quo, as there exists the tendency for
those who appreciate classic and well-studied art to scoff at current, popular media. Capitalistic and
profitizing incentives aside (which would require John Reese's contributions to social cynicism for this
discussion), scholars generally forgo many of the current best-sellers and monthly picks to instead
focus either on the established literary canon or works which the tenured prof has taken a personal
interest in. To attempt to fully understand and appreciate these works is to dedicate one's life to learning
and applying the secrets of figurative language, theme, and other literary concepts in order to
understand the intent and execution of said works, requirements that the majority of literate human
beings might never master. After all, who better to judge than those destined to do so? Yale Professor
Harold Bloom elaborates on the role of the reader in adequately assessing art, in this case textual.
To read human sentiments in human language you must be able to read humanly, with all of
you. You are more than an ideology, whatever your convictions, and Shakespeare speaks to as
much of you as you can bring to him.
The reader must cast aside all previous preconceptions, personal prejudices, and prior presuppositions

and take reading by the reins, understanding the work for what it is before forming an opinion or
attempting to criticize. It is in this way that a great writer such as Shakespeare can effectively move
readers and play-goers, provided they let him. Similarly, Vladimir Nabokov, author of the acclaimed
and controversial novel Lolita, likens this property to maintaining the cognitive dissonance of a lab coat
with a paint brush.
The best temperament for a reader to have, or to develop, is a combination of the artistic and the
scientific one. The enthusiastic artist alone is apt to be too subjective in his attitude towards a
book, and so a scientific coolness of judgment will temper the intuitive heat. If, however, a
would-be reader is utterly devoid of passion and patience of an artists passion and a
scientists patience he will hardly enjoy great literature.
While I generally disagree with the false dichotomy of the logician and the creative (the two are not
mutually exclusive, but I digress), the sentiment holds very true. Analysis has its place, but it should
coexist naturally and fairly with the fiery human passion and emotion that good literature should
induce. Once again, this takes knowledge, care, and great experience, and furthermore, is expected in a
wise reader, not merely one who is average or even good.
We conclude with a sentiment expressed by Julie Beck on the nature of life and storytelling.
When people tell others about themselves, they kind of have to do it in a narrative way-that's
just how humans communicate. But when people think about their lives to themselves, is it
always in a narrative way, with a plot that leads from one point to another? There's an old adage
that everyone has a book inside of them.
If everyone indeed has "a book inside of them," is each individual's book a classic or best, or does the
sum or average of all life stories decide the literature chosen? Maybe it is the art which most effectively
and universally reflects human life that ultimately survives time. Such art would then need to overcome
a difficult task: appealing to both the individual and society. This involves meeting a perfect balance
between the common experiences and emotions shared by humanity, yet still treating the lone reader to

an exclusive private viewing meant specially for them. A majority of the population can collectively
appreciate and enjoy Mark Twain, yet one ultimately reads The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn alone,
where the story of a boys river-rafting escapades can let one recount personal childhood memories and
relive the rush of adventure and exploration. It can take time to discover which works achieve this goal,
which is why current trends and recommendations do little to aid in this effort. However, as not
everyone is at a sufficient literary level of understanding to truly appreciate the timeless qualities in
writing, it is the community of studious and astute readers who are able to notice them and thus
differentiate accordingly. These academics are able to share the passion and emotional experience of
the greater public whilst possessing the ability to scientifically evaluate as well. All of this said, perhaps
best books do not so much follow certain criteria as much as they pass a series of literary trials with
flying colors.