H o w t o R e a d L i t e r a t u r e1 4 6arguing over, otherwise we could not call what they were doing
conflicting. You and I cannot disagree over whether Sofia is hotter
than Carolina if you think they are geographical locations and I
think they are movie stars.
It follows from this that a work of literature could not mean
something to me alone. I might see in it something that nobody
else does, but what I see must in principle be sharable with others
for us to call it a meaning. Indeed, I can only formulate a meaning
to myself in language that I share with others. Perhaps the words
‘black sheep’ remind me irresistibly of Hugh Grant. Every time
someone pronounces these words, an image of Hugh Grant flashes
up spontaneously in my mind. This, however, could not be part of
the meaning of the words. It is simply a random private association.
Meaning is not objective in the sense that municipal cark parks are,
but it is not just subjective either. The same is true of literary works
themselves, as I have pointed out already. They are transactions,
not material objects. There is no literature without a reader.
Moreover, a reader’s ability to get a poem or novel to mean
something is shaped by his or her historical situation. Here and
now, a text can only mean whatever lies within a reader’s capacity
to make it mean. Clarissa could not shed light on feminist theory
for its contemporary readership, but it can do for us. Readers bring
all kinds of (often unconscious) beliefs and assumptions to a
literary text. Among them will be a rough idea of what a literary
work is in the first place, and some sense of what they are supposed
to do with it. What they find in the text will be shaped by their
beliefs and expectations, though it might also succeed in revolu-
tionising them. Indeed, for some critics this is what makes for truly
exceptional literary art. One might enter a poem an agnostic and
emerge as a Jehovah’s Witness.