There are unclassifiable works of genius like Kate Beaton’s Hark! A Vagrant, based on the webcomic, which has to go on some list somewhere, but which and where it’s hard to say. And there are the big books that you know you should love but which you only like. I’m thinking of Alan Hollinghurst’s The Stranger’s Child, which I tried and failed to swoon for, though it’s not fair to single that one out. There are lots of them. You look at them, and you read the raves, and you wonder why you don’t see what the other critics see. Or is it me who sees what they don’t see? Is the culture broken, or am I?