" For bad
books, by flattering you, by caressing, by appealing to the weak or
the base in you, will often persuade you what fine and splendid books
they are. (Of course, I use the word "true" in a wide and essential
significance. I do not necessarily mean true to literal fact; I
mean true to the plane of experience in which the book moves. The
truthfulness of _Ivanhoe_, for example, cannot be estimated by
the same standards as the truthfulness of Stubbs's _Constitutional
History_.) In reading a book, a sincere questioning of oneself, "Is it
true?" and a loyal abiding by the answer, will help more surely than
any other process of ratiocination to form the taste. I will not
assert that this question and answer are all-sufficient. A true book
is not always great. But a great book is never untrue.
My second counsel is: In your reading you must have in view some
definite aim--some aim other than the wish to derive pleasure. I
conceive that to give pleasure is the highest end of any work of art,
because the pleasure procured from any art is tonic, and transforms
the life into which it enters. But the maximum of pleasure can only
be obtained by regular effort, and regular effort implies the
organisation of that effort.
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