Literary Taste: How to Form It | Page 5

preference, may be
suggested as an admirable and a diverting exercise. You might mark
the authors that flash an appeal to you.


CHAPTER III
WHY A CLASSIC IS A CLASSIC
The large majority of our fellow-citizens care as much about literature
as they care about aeroplanes or the programme of the Legislature.
They do not ignore it; they are not quite indifferent to it. But their
interest in it is faint and perfunctory; or, if their interest happens to be
violent, it is spasmodic. Ask the two hundred thousand persons whose
enthusiasm made the vogue of a popular novel ten years ago what they
think of that novel now, and you will gather that they have utterly
forgotten it, and that they would no more dream of reading it again than
of reading Bishop Stubbs's Select Charters. Probably if they did read it
again they would not enjoy it--not because the said novel is a whit
worse now than it was ten years ago; not because their taste has
improved--but because they have not had sufficient practice to be able
to rely on their taste as a means of permanent pleasure. They simply
don't know from one day to the next what will please them.
In the face of this one may ask: Why does the great and universal fame
of classical authors continue? The answer is that the fame of classical
authors is entirely independent of the majority. Do you suppose that if
the fame of Shakespeare depended on the man in the street it would
survive a fortnight? The fame of classical authors is originally made,
and it is maintained, by a passionate few. Even when a first-class
author has enjoyed immense success during his lifetime, the majority
have never appreciated him so sincerely as they have appreciated
second-rate men. He has always been reinforced by the ardour of the
passionate few. And in the case of an author who has emerged into

glory after his death the happy sequel has been due solely to the
obstinate perseverance of the few. They could not leave him alone; they
would not. They kept on savouring him, and talking about him, and
buying him, and they generally behaved with such eager zeal, and they
were so authoritative and sure of themselves, that at last the majority
grew accustomed to the sound of his name and placidly agreed to the
proposition that he was a genius; the majority really did not care very
much either way.
And it is by the passionate few that the renown of genius is kept alive
from one generation to another. These few are always at work. They
are always rediscovering genius. Their curiosity and enthusiasm are
exhaustless, so that there is little chance of genius being ignored. And,
moreover, they are always working either for or against the verdicts of
the majority. The majority can make a reputation, but it is too careless
to maintain it. If, by accident, the passionate few agree with the
majority in a particular instance, they will frequently remind the
majority that such and such a reputation has been made, and the
majority will idly concur: "Ah, yes. By the way, we must not forget that
such and such a reputation exists." Without that persistent
memory-jogging the reputation would quickly fall into the oblivion
which is death. The passionate few only have their way by reason of
the fact that they are genuinely interested in literature, that literature
matters to them. They conquer by their obstinacy alone, by their eternal
repetition of the same statements. Do you suppose they could prove to
the man in the street that Shakespeare was a great artist? The said man
would not even understand the terms they employed. But when he is
told ten thousand times, and generation after generation, that
Shakespeare was a great artist, the said man believes--not by reason,
but by faith. And he too repeats that Shakespeare was a great artist, and
he buys the complete works of Shakespeare and puts them on his
shelves, and he goes to see the marvellous stage-effects which
accompany King Lear or Hamlet, and comes back religiously
convinced that Shakespeare was a great artist. All because the
passionate few could not keep their admiration of Shakespeare to
themselves. This is not cynicism; but truth. And it is important that
those who wish to form their literary taste should grasp it.

What causes the passionate few to make such a fuss about literature?
There can be only one reply. They find a keen and lasting pleasure in
literature. They enjoy literature as some men enjoy beer. The
recurrence of this pleasure naturally keeps their interest in literature
very much alive. They are for ever making new researches, for ever
practising on themselves. They learn to