Reading in Public No. 77: Literary elitism and literary egalitarianism

My journey through the spectrum of book snobbery and why I don't equate taste with virtue

This weekend I read a viral Substack essay entitled Not All Reading is Good Reading. The piece was clearly written with the intent to enrage (I mean, the subhead is “I look forward to you unsubscribing”), and, in that regard, it worked on me. The larger points the piece was attempting to make about the value in challenging ourselves and reading more complicated texts is something I agree with and something I write about frequently. But what was so irritating about this particular essay was the paternalistic tone—the attitude that we readers don’t know our own needs as well as some stranger on the internet. To be honest, it’s especially provoking when someone is dismissive of genres largely read by women when women statistically read much more fiction than men and are more likely to read a wider range of genres.

But my response to this post lead me to a lot of reflection, in part because I’ve been there before. For much of my reading life, I’ve been a book snob who judged other readers for their taste. Conversely, I’ve gone through phases of bing the adult reader who binged YA novels and loved every minute of it. My journey through this spectrum of readers has landed me (for now) somewhere in the middle. It’s a position that probably resonates with the majority of readers, but because of the way algorithms and headlines and click bait works, it’s not the dominate discourse in the online book space. So today, I wanted to share my journey through the spectrum of literary egalitarianism and literary elitism and offer a glimpse at what balance can look like.

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I started the Instagram account FictionMatters as part of the culminating project for my masters degree in literature and culture studies. The year I finished my program, Common Core was becoming more widely adopted and discussed and one aspect of the language arts requirements was mandating more nonfiction to be read in K-12 programs. No one really knew what this meant at the time, but as part of my project, I wanted to consider why fiction matters. What do we gain from reading fiction that can’t be achieved with nonfiction? Why do we read these made up stories? How do they enhance our lives, but also why are they important in an educational setting?

In addition to my research, I conducted interviews with people in a wide range of careers and fields to find out what they personally believe were the benefits of reading fiction. This was a fascinating experience because from my own perspective, being a reader was intricately tied to being a student of English literature. I was genuinely curious what and why people outside of that circle read. At this time, I was a complete, but unaware book snob. I genuinely didn’t really know what people read if they weren’t reading classics or literary award winners. My only vision of reading was academic reading, and it was eye opening to talk to people outside the field of literature about what and why they read.

Yet, in spite of my project, I left graduate school as a literary elitist. This gradually began to change for me through teaching high schoolers and being part of the Bookstagram explosion. While teaching, it was important to me to provide my students with access to and understanding of great works of classic literature, but an equal priority was helping students learn how to assess and analyze texts in general so they could apply those skills to any book they picked up throughout their lives. Free reading time was hugely important in my classroom and that meant giving them time and space to read whatever they wanted without comment or judgement. Picking up that middle grade series they loved when they were 10? Sure! Exclusively reading graphic novels? Great! I had to shed my snobbery in order to allow them to see themselves as readers, even if that looked different from how I read. Furthermore, sometimes it takes engaging with a text you’re comfortable with to really get analytical. My students were just getting a grasp on how to read Toni Morrison—asking them to come up with informed thematic arguments about Beloved was a big ask. But they could analyze the hell out of the symbolism in The Hunger Games! Combining both of those activities is what we call scaffolding. Students need an opportunity to apply new skills in a way they can be successful and a reason to reach beyond their current skillset.

As for Bookstagram (the accounts on Instagram that post book content), it’s an ecosystem that has morphed over the years, and I can’t pretend to love every turn it’s taken. Bookstagram is largely a space of literary egalitarianism, promoting the belief that all reading is good reading—that there are not bad books, just books that aren’t right for a particular reader. It was Bookstagram that convinced me to try out romance novels, to pick up more fantasy, and to read more new releases. It completely opened my eyes to types of books I turned my nose up at or didn’t even know existed. This was particularly useful to me when I was teaching. During my tenure as a high school English teacher, I couldn’t really read the classics and literary fiction I preferred; my time and energy were limited and I was pouring myself into closely reading the books I was teaching. There was just no way I wanted to come home and read Faulkner or Knausgaard after spending eight hours helping teenagers get through Beloved, Pride and Prejudice, and 1984 all in the same day. Having other things to read—lighter, quicker, more escapist—kept me in books and feeling like a reader. Reading these books also gave me an opportunity to engage with more casual and conversational criticism, to learn more about tastes and trends, and to find great books to recommend to my students. Plus they are fun…sue me!

Now having left teaching to make writing about books into my full-time profession, I’ve found myself drifting (or perhaps intentional turning) back towards the denser books I loved in academia. For five years, I hosted a classic literature podcast with

Chelsey Feder

and here on Substack I’ve discovered that I enjoy writing in depth about how I read, which—for me—often means closely and deliberately reading more challenging books. I like writing about the analytical questions I ask myself and sharing about my thought processes while reading. I never have as much to say in that regard about more commercial reads or genre fiction, not necessarily because these books don’t allow for that kind of reading, but because I don’t have a robust context for much genre fiction. Since having something to say about a book is my livelihood, I just don’t tend to read many books that won’t provoke thoughtful commentary.

While I’ve moved back and forth along the spectrum of literary elitism, I have found it interesting that the spaces I occupy are quite polarized in this regard. Having been on Bookstagram for over a decade, I can tell you that the dominant belief there is one of literary egalitarianism. For the most part, the operating assumption is that books are not better or worse…it’s all personal and all about finding books that work for you. On the other hand, over here on Substack the literary community can be a bit elitist. There is a lot more discussion of the classics and a willingness to loudly and decisively put books into hierarchies. Being on Bookstagram might make you think that what and how you read don’t matter at all—it’s all the same. Being on Substack might make you feel like you aren’t a real reader if you haven’t completed George Eliot’s oeuvre or if you dare to add an Emily Henry novel into your reading rotation.

But my reading life and work life are most satisfying when I straddle the line. From my vantage point, I think it’s silly to pretend that all books are equal from an artistic standpoint or that they all work our intellects in the same way. I know that some of what I read is exceptional. These books make me think deeply about philosophical, ethical, and humanistic questions, while also being being crafted beautifully both structurally and linguistically. Other books I read aren’t as good in terms of traditionally held views about literary merit, but they’re damn good at what they’re trying to do, whether that’s absorb me, transport me, or offer me escape. Sometimes I think a book is “bad” because it doesn’t meet my literary standards, but more often for me a “bad book” is one that fails to achieve its own aims and not every book is trying to be classically great literature.

In a time of decreasing attention spans, I’ll admit that I’ve occasionally found myself frustrated with some readers’ disinterest in books that require active intellectual engagement. I frequently use this newsletter to nudge people towards increasingly challenging books and—better yet—more intentional reading practices. What bothers me about the discourse of literary egalitarianism is an unwillingness to engage in nuanced conversations about craft, theory, prose, and the flaws and merits of various books. It almost exclusively considers an individual reader’s reaction to a text rather than evaluating a book for how well it’s doing what it sets out to do. What bothers me about the discourse of literary elitist (and what bothered me so much about the essay I mentioned in my preamble) is the tone of moral superiority.

Over and over again, I find myself wondering why both sides of this conversation are so entrenched in their views when the reality is so simple. Some books are better than others, but reading the better books doesn’t make you the better person. It’s possible to acknowledge that artistic hierarchies exist without shaming people for their taste or getting paternalistic with advice. Fourth Wing is not equal to Paradise Lost. But there is absolutely nothing wrong or bad about reading what you love or reading what comforts you.

For my own reading—the only reading I can or want to control—I’ll continue to nerd out over inventive new fiction, catch up on classics I missed, and delight in an occasional foray into fantasy and romance. If you want to think more deeply about whatever books you read, I’m thrilled to be one of your guides, but also, let’s agree to read, and let read.

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Happy reading!

Sara