I feel the same way about both Joyce and Eliot: they make their readers do a lot of the interpretative work that other authors do on behalf of their readers. So

I feel the same way about both Joyce and Eliot: they make their readers do a lot of the interpretative work that other authors do on behalf of their readers. Some people enjoy doing that work, and some don’t. I think the latter group gets frustrated when the former does that work and then proclaim it as the highest form of genius. Sure, it’s genius, but it’s not _more_ genius than certain approachable prose/poetry, it’s just a different kind.