The problem with best lists

The problem with best book lists — like the ones discussed here the past two days — is, I think, the use of the word “best.”

Best is the superlative of good, but otherwise it has no specificity.

Is the best pitcher in the league the one with the most strikeouts, the best ERA, the highest salary, or the most wins?

Is the best film the one that takes in the most money, has the most critical acclaim, or wins the Oscar?

Is the best place to live the one with the most jobs, the mildest climate, or the best coffee shops and pubs?

Is the best novel the one taught in the most literature courses, published in more editions, or celebrated each June 16th?

I would argue that the best novels of a century have to transcend being a book. They have to have been discussed continuously since they were published.

There is, for example, a scene in The Wire in prison where they discuss The Great Gatsby.

D’Angelo Barksdale:

He’s saying that the past is always with us. Where we come from, what we go through, how we go through it, all this shit matters. Like at the end of the book, ya know, boats and tides and all. It’s like you can change up, right, you can say you’re somebody new, you can give yourself a whole new story. But, what came first is who you really are and what happened before is what really happened. It don’t matter that some fool say he different cuz the things that make you different is what you really do, what you really go through.

The best novels may not be the best to read or the most enjoyable, or anyone’s favorite. And they may indeed have been written mostly by now dead white men. The language can be difficult; the cadence unfamiliar. But they are larger than that. To mention two 19th century classics, Moby Dick is not just a book about whaling; Huck Finn is not just a book about a boy and a river.

The fact that a novel is on the Modern Library best list is — in a way — almost validation that it should be on the list.