This pretty much sums up my thoughts, not just on criticism, but on life in general. There are so many avenues we could explore, but can only haltingly explain, especially when we try to take into account the full entirety of what we know or could know (not even to mention what we can't know.) If our words and thoughts do not become muddled it so often seems that it is because we have oversimplified and abandoned many legitimate ways of looking at something.
Of course I do feel a deep kinship with France (a novelist) as Booth explains Paul West to view him (though I have read nothing of either France or West.) France is explained as a man who has "nothing coherent to say," or someone who tries "to reconcile high intellectual ambitions with an impossibly cluttered mind." So it is possible that my mind is more cluttered than most. I can be a pack rat. Though, to be fair to myself, probably most of us can feel this way, at least occasionally. There is so many thoughts to sort through of so many people on so many issues that even people with well organized minds will have to check all kinds of drawers and folders to collect the necessary knowledge.
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