Far too often politics and smug intellectualism recruit literary criticism for the wrong ends. There are also those commentators convinced textual analysis really amounts to lop-sided history lessons. Equally bad are those critics and scholars who seize on texts and set out to explain them their way. The result patronises the reader, sidelines the books allegedly under scrutiny and leaves the impression that critics feel they are so interesting they may as well write about themselves. Oz's little book is not only a delight to read for its logic, humour and enthusiasm, it makes the reader anxious to race back to Chekhov, Kafka, Carver, Marquez and the other writers whose work he is looking at. It also suggests literary criticism can be a useful pursuit. As a writer Oz has got better and better with age. This wise, lively book not only celebrates the art of reading and re-reading, it honours storytelling as a gift of the gods.
