âFor example: A writer sets out to write science fiction but isnât familiar with the genre, hasnât read whatâs been written. This is a fairly common situation, because science fiction is known to sell well but, as a subliterary genre, is not supposed to be worth studyâwhatâs to learn? It doesnât occur to the novice that a genre is a genre because it has a field and focus of its own; its appropriate and particular tools, rules, and techniques for handling the material; its traditions; and its experienced, appreciative readersâthat it is, in fact, a literature. Ignoring all this, our novice is just about to reinvent the wheel, the space ship, the space alien, and the mad scientist, with cries of innocent wonder. The cries will not be echoed by the readers. Readers familiar with that genre have met the space ship, the alien, and the mad scientist before. They know more about them than the writer does. In the same way, critics who set out to talk about a fantasy novel without having read any fantasy since they were eight, and in ignorance of the history and extensive theory of fantasy literature, will make fools of themselves because they donât know how to read the book. They have no contextual information to tell them what its tradition is, where itâs coming from, what itâs trying to do, what it does. This was liberally proved when the first Harry Potter book came out and a lot of literary reviewers ran around shrieking about the incredible originality of the book. This originality was an artifact of the reviewersâ blank ignorance of its genres (childrenâs fantasy and the British boarding-school story), plus the fact that they hadnât read a fantasy since they were eight. It was pitiful. It was like watching some TV gourmet chef eat a piece of buttered toast and squeal, âBut this is delicious! Unheard of! Where has it been all my life?ââ