To summarize, Fisher is right that there are many novels I don’t like, but I would also say that those I don’t like throw those I do into sharper relief, and that there is little if any place for a mediocre novelist in this world.

I have an image of you prowling the never-ending hallways of an enormous art gallery or museum, examining minutely each painting on the wall, only to find each one woefully lacking in this way or that. Occasionally — very, very occasionally — you find a painting that you really like, or even love. Yet you keep right on wandering the hallways without surcease. This seems a very inefficient method for finding works of art you might like, no? To put it another way: your diet is richer in what you’d call chaff than in wheat. And how can that nourish your appetite?

Myself, on the other hand, I try to find something to like about most everything I read. Of course, most of what people read isn’t necessarily Great Art (in capital letters), but I think it’s important to try to derive some enjoyment out of anything one has invested time in, don’t you? :)