In the nineteenth century, the usage of the term literature coincided with a new approach to both reading and writing texts. There happened a transition from a social and collective consumption of texts within salons or personal sociability circles to a more individualistic consumption, where each reader could engage intimately and singularly with a text. This relationship can be described as free and autonomous, no longer regulated by a communal readership. In essence, every reader was then relatively free to interpret texts according to personal needs and desires. This freedom was enhanced as the direct connection with the author weakened.
Traditionally, texts were crafted within social circles that shared expectations and values, identifiable voices within the community. By the nineteenth century, however, the widespread industrial production and distribution of books in Western countries—found in station libraries, reading rooms, and bookshops at reduced costs—meant that texts were no longer tied to a specific voice, to a singular enunciation by a given person.11 Accessed primarily on paper rather than through direct authorial discourse, texts became impersonal products.
This era also heralded a cult of originality and novelty, which stood against the repetition of established models. Creative freedom expanded, reducing social and aesthetic constraints on authors and fostering a competitive environment where originality was key. This shift aligned with the formation of what Pierre Bourdieu called the literary field (champ littéraire)—an autonomous space where writers themselves could define among themselves, and with a minimum of external intervention, the procedures by which the value and legitimacy of their works are fixed.
Privatization and intimacy of reading, freedom of interpretation, impersonalization of texts, autonomization of the field—these were the key characteristics of the literary practices that emerged in the early nineteenth century.
Another significant aspect, directly related to the concept of world literature, was the increased circulation of texts beyond their original contexts. Such widespread circulation was all the more facilitated precisely because the new practices of literary reading and interpretation valued the autonomy of interpretation and judgment by the individual reader, and the source of the text had itself become unidentifiable and impersonal.
Thus, any text, no matter how ancient or remote, could be assimilated into the vast global literature market. It is no coincidence that the idea of world literature, or Weltliteratur, emerged in Goethe’s time, soon after the modern concept of literature solidified.
No literature was an island anymore, if it ever was. Matthew Arnold eloquently pointed out in his 1857 inaugural lecture at Oxford: “No single event, no single literature is adequately comprehended except in its relation to other events, to other literatures.”
As an autonomous, universally oriented art of language of a higher intellectuality, detached as far as possible from its context, literature became the great decontextualizer, the phagocyte par excellence, ingesting all the scattered texts to make its own fabric. A literary reading in fact has the capacity of making sense of everything, of decontextualizing as much as possible, of seeing each text as an autonomous object and giving the reader interpretative power. This is the very definition of literature.
Everything can be read as literature: the Mandingo epic of Sundiata as well as Greek tragedy, the Tibetan Bardo Thödol no less than Icelandic sagas. Literature equalizes all texts, much as capitalist market practices commodify diverse goods. The rise of world literature, the global production and circulation of literature, taking over the bookshops, the media, and the universities, thus represents the culmination of the literarization process—that is, the acculturation, commodification, and monetization of works, which were highlighted very early on by Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels.13 This is the global exchange of both commodities and texts: everything can become literature, just as everything can become a commodity—everything is readable, interpretable, assimilable, and purchasable.
There is even an astonishing vicious circle that feeds the literary system: the further away a work is from its source, the more easily it is stripped of its historical function and its own original power, as well as the easier it is to integrate it into the vast literary corpus. In other words, a distant or ancient text, about which nothing is known, becomes literature all the more easily because it is free from authoritative constraints on its interpretation.al
For instance, texts such as the Tao Te Ching, Antigone, or Arthurian novels are now part of the expansive circuit of world literature, open to endless reinterpretations and readings that often starkly diverge from their original intent.
In twentieth-century literary theory, the concept of an author’s intention was often viewed as an illusion. William K. Wimsatt notably formulated the notion of “intentional fallacy,” arguing against employing historical, biographical, or contextual criteria in interpreting texts.14 However, in the hermeneutical system of New Criticism, interpretation did not represent the triumph of anarchy: the New Critics developed a method known as close reading, a rigorous system of textual analysis that evaluates a work solely on the basis of its content, independent of the author’s intent or external factors. This approach, essentially a modern form of traditional philology, sought to impose some limits on interpretative freedom, countering what Roland Barthes famously termed “the death of the author.”
Things have changed now. In the current literary landscape, the reins have been fully loosened, aligning with the logical progression of the nineteenth-century literary system. Today the subjective emotional response of the reader has become the primary criterion for assessing the validity of a text. If a text provokes an emotional response, then any critique of that reaction as incorrect is dismissed under the principle of intentional fallacy. Historical or cultural contexts are deemed irrelevant when challenging a reader’s interpretation. The reader’s judgment is regarded as infallible, with personal experience and perception taking precedence over objective analysis. When it comes to judging a text, I am, and today’s reader is always supposed to be, right. This is the latest and not the least problem posed by the evolution of the concept of world literature.
William Marx, "Libraries of the Mind" (2025)