CS Lewis stands as a towering figure in literature: a renowned professor, a discerning religious essayist, a cartographer of grief in the wake of loss, and a masterful storyteller who breathed life into The Chronicles of Narnia. Beyond fiction, his sharp-eyed criticism opened new pathways for thinking about reading itself. Alba Editorial has now brought back a classic work from his late career, translated by Amado Diéguez and included in the Tránsitos collection. The text brims with fluency and wisdom, remaining deeply relevant to contemporary literature and ongoing conversations about how we engage with books.
Tell me how you read a book and I’ll tell you if it’s good or bad
Lewis, born in Belfast in 1898 and passing away at The Kilns in 1963, laid out a provocative experiment. He challenged a common habit in literary criticism: many critics judge a text before exploring the various ways readers might approach it. By flipping the starting point, he argued, the question becomes how readers are disposed toward a work, and only then how a book should be judged. The aim is to measure how reasonable it is to define a work as good when it is read in one way, and as bad when read in another.
The discussion moves between the majority and the minority, across remote areas where reading life unfolds. He notes that most people do not reread much, while devoted readers often return to great works ten, twenty, or even thirty times during a lifetime. Many readers undervalue the act of reading, treating it as a last resort when other pleasures lose their appeal. Those who love literature, however, tend to carry their first encounter with a book in memory, revisiting it and letting its impressions accumulate. The act of reading becomes a continuous, evolving experience rather than a single event.
Numbers rarely capture this nuance. What matters is the diversity of reading practices. Critics, often in the majority, may dismiss popular tastes as coarse or vulgar. Yet Lewis reminds readers that constellations of virtue and intelligence can exist across both majority and minority groups. He cautions against the danger of assuming that popularity equates moral decline, or that any group holds a monopoly on taste or virtue. The point is to resist reductive judgments about readers and reading alike, recognizing a spectrum of sensibilities instead.
Snobbery poses a particular risk. Fashion can sway judgments, making culture seem valued only if it conforms to prevailing trends. A genuine reader, Lewis suggests, is more valuable as a person than someone who adopts culture as a social badge. His critique of universities and courses in English literature points to a cautionary tale: when reading is framed as a mere academic requirement, it dulls the very spark it seeks to cultivate. The idea of merit becomes entwined with the act of completing a syllabus rather than engaging with a living text.
Attention is essential. The true reader approaches texts with seriousness, reading with self-sacrifice and a careful, if imperfect, objectivity. Yet that very seriousness makes it impossible to read every book in perfect measure. Each reader engages with a work in the spirit in which the author wrote it, accepting both alignment and divergence in interpretation.
Puritanical impulses often miss the mark because they equate seriousness with rigidity. Lewis explores how differences in reading habits shape bias, the varied ways people experience a text, and the different satisfactions they draw from the act of reading. Some readers slow down to savor language; others seek factual or worldly knowledge with a single-minded focus. There are those who read to polish or elevate themselves, while others read to be moved, persuaded, or challenged. Reading carries a spectrum of purposes and effects, not a single, uniform outcome. The author’s own wit and precise style keep the discussion anchored in clarity and humane insight, inviting readers to consider their own practices without feeling judged.
For Lewis, the experience of reading can heal personal wounds while also temperedly redirecting one’s sense of privilege. Literature, like faith, love, moral action, and knowledge, offers the possibility of transcendence without erasing individuality. Through reading, a person can extend beyond themselves while still preserving a core sense of self. This balance—between individual experience and shared human values—stands as a central claim of his work and a guide for any reader seeking a richer, more responsible engagement with texts.