Foster How to Read Literature Like a Professor: Unlocking the Secret Language of Books
Literature professors seem to possess an almost supernatural ability to extract meaning from texts that leave the rest of us scratching our heads. When you mention that the curtains in a story are blue, they see depression, melancholy, or perhaps the vast indifference of the universe. Meanwhile, you're thinking the author just liked the color blue. This disconnect between academic literary analysis and casual reading has frustrated students for generations, but Thomas C. Foster's groundbreaking work offers a bridge between these two worlds.
I remember sitting in my first college literature class, watching my professor dissect a seemingly straightforward short story with the precision of a surgeon. Every detail meant something. Every choice the author made was deliberate. At first, I thought it was all nonsense—surely authors don't think about all these symbols and patterns while they're writing. But then something clicked. Once you learn to see these patterns, you can't unsee them. It's like learning a new language that's been hiding in plain sight all along.
Foster's approach isn't about turning everyone into stuffy academics who can't enjoy a good beach read. Rather, it's about enriching your reading experience by recognizing the conversations that texts have with each other across centuries. When you understand that nearly every quest story follows the same basic pattern established by Homer thousands of years ago, suddenly every adventure tale becomes part of a grand literary tradition.
The Grammar of Literature
Foster introduces us to what he calls the "grammar of literature"—a set of patterns, symbols, and conventions that authors use to communicate deeper meanings. Just as spoken language has rules and structures that native speakers internalize without conscious thought, literature has its own syntax that experienced readers navigate intuitively.
This literary grammar includes everything from seasonal symbolism (spring equals rebirth, winter equals death or dormancy) to the significance of weather (it's never just raining in a story), to the importance of geography and setting. These aren't arbitrary rules imposed by English teachers to torture students. They're patterns that have evolved over millennia of storytelling, becoming a kind of shared cultural shorthand.
What makes Foster's approach particularly valuable is his insistence that this knowledge should enhance rather than replace the pleasure of reading. He's not asking us to dissect every sentence looking for hidden meanings. Instead, he's offering tools that allow us to pick up on the subtle frequencies that broadcast beneath the surface of the text.
Memory, Symbol, and Pattern
One of Foster's key insights is that reading literature well depends heavily on three interconnected elements: memory, symbol, and pattern. Memory refers not just to remembering what happened earlier in the book you're reading, but to your entire repository of literary experiences. The more you've read, the more patterns you'll recognize.
I've found this to be profoundly true in my own reading life. Books I read in my twenties mean something entirely different when I revisit them in my forties, not just because I've changed as a person, but because I've read hundreds more books in the interim. Each new text adds to my literary memory bank, creating more points of connection and recognition.
Symbols in literature rarely mean just one thing. Foster warns against the "symbol-hunting" approach where readers desperately search for the "correct" interpretation of every image. Instead, he encourages us to think of symbols as having ranges of meaning that can shift depending on context. A river might represent life, death, rebirth, boundaries, freedom, or any number of other concepts depending on how it's used in the story.
Patterns are perhaps the most powerful tool in Foster's arsenal. Once you start recognizing them, literature becomes less mysterious and more like a conversation you're finally able to join. The pattern of the quest narrative, the Christ figure, the vampire story (which Foster argues is really about exploitation and selfish consumption)—these archetypal structures appear again and again across cultures and centuries.
It's All About Sex (Except When It's Not)
Foster dedicates considerable attention to two of literature's most persistent obsessions: sex and violence. His chapter titles on these subjects are deliberately provocative—"It's All About Sex..." followed immediately by "...Except Sex." This isn't just clever wordplay; it's a fundamental insight into how literature operates.
When authors write about sex directly, Foster argues, they're often really writing about something else—power, vulnerability, coming of age, spiritual transcendence. Conversely, when they write about seemingly innocent activities—eating together, going for a walk, playing sports—they might actually be writing about sex. This isn't because authors are perverts or prudes, but because literature operates through displacement and metaphor.
The violence in literature, similarly, is rarely just about violence. Foster helps us see how literary violence differs from real-world violence in its purposes and effects. When characters die or suffer in stories, it's usually in service of the plot or theme. Their deaths mean something beyond the mere fact of death.
This might sound cynical, reducing human experiences to literary devices, but I'd argue it's actually the opposite. By understanding how literature transforms raw experience into meaning, we gain deeper appreciation for both art and life.
The Bible and Shakespeare: The Two Foundational Texts
According to Foster, two texts form the bedrock of Western literature: the Bible and Shakespeare. This isn't a religious or cultural supremacist argument—it's simply an observation about what authors have historically drawn upon for their allusions and structures.
You don't need to be Christian to recognize biblical patterns in literature, any more than you need to be British to appreciate Shakespearean influences. These texts have become part of our shared cultural vocabulary. When a character undergoes a symbolic death and rebirth, when someone is betrayed by a close friend, when a garden represents innocence or fall from grace—these patterns echo biblical narratives that have shaped thousands of years of storytelling.
Shakespeare's influence is similarly pervasive. His plots, characters, and even specific phrases appear everywhere in subsequent literature. More importantly, Shakespeare established certain character types and dramatic situations that writers continue to riff on centuries later.
Foster isn't suggesting we need to become biblical scholars or Shakespeare experts. But having even basic familiarity with these foundational texts opens up layers of meaning in everything else we read. It's like having the decoder ring for a significant portion of literary history.
Geography Matters
One aspect of Foster's approach that particularly resonated with me is his attention to geography and setting. Where a story takes place is never accidental. Authors choose settings that reinforce their themes, create particular moods, or carry cultural associations.
Hills and valleys, rivers and roads, cities and wilderness—all carry symbolic weight. A journey south often represents a descent into the unconscious or the primitive. Going east might evoke ideas about origins and traditions, while westward movement (at least in American literature) typically suggests progress, opportunity, or escape.
This geographical consciousness extends to interior spaces as well. The layout of a house, which rooms characters inhabit, whether scenes take place indoors or outdoors—these choices shape meaning in subtle but powerful ways. Once you start paying attention to the geography of literature, you realize how much work setting does in creating the total effect of a story.
Seasons, Weather, and Other Natural Phenomena
Foster devotes significant attention to how authors use natural phenomena symbolically. It's never just raining in a story—rain might represent cleansing, renewal, sadness, or any number of other states depending on context. Snow can isolate characters, preserve things in stasis, or blanket the world in deceptive beauty.
Seasons carry their own freight of associations. Spring suggests youth, renewal, and possibility. Summer often represents maturity, fulfillment, or passion. Fall brings harvest but also decline, while winter typically evokes death, dormancy, or hardship. These associations are so deeply embedded in our cultural consciousness that authors can use them almost as emotional shorthand.
But Foster warns against mechanical application of these symbols. A story set in winter doesn't automatically mean death any more than one set in spring guarantees rebirth. Context is everything. The key is to notice when authors use these natural elements and ask yourself why they made that choice.
Irony and the Modern Sensibility
One of the more challenging aspects of Foster's approach involves understanding irony in literature. Not the Alanis Morissette kind of irony (which is mostly just unfortunate coincidence), but the literary kind where there's a meaningful gap between appearance and reality, between what's said and what's meant.
Modern and contemporary literature is particularly suffused with irony. Foster argues this reflects our loss of certainty about absolute truths and values. When authors can no longer write with complete sincerity about heroism, love, or meaning, they turn to irony as a way of having their cake and eating it too—expressing these themes while maintaining protective distance.
This ironic mode can be frustrating for readers who just want stories to say what they mean. But understanding irony as a literary tool rather than authorial cynicism helps us appreciate why so much contemporary literature seems to undercut its own emotional moments. It's not that modern authors don't believe in anything—it's that they're writing for audiences who've become suspicious of grand narratives and absolute truths.
Reading with Your Eyes Open
Perhaps the most valuable lesson from Foster's work is the importance of reading actively rather than passively. This doesn't mean turning every reading experience into homework. Rather, it means staying alert to the choices authors make and the effects those choices create.
When I first started applying Foster's principles, I worried it would ruin my enjoyment of reading. If I'm constantly analyzing symbols and patterns, how can I lose myself in a good story? But I've found the opposite to be true. The more I understand about how literature works, the more I appreciate the artistry involved in creating effective fiction.
It's similar to how understanding music theory doesn't diminish a musician's enjoyment of music—if anything, it deepens it. You can still have immediate, emotional responses to what you read while also appreciating the craft that creates those responses.
The Intertextual Universe
One of Foster's most exciting insights is that literature exists in an ongoing conversation with itself. Every text builds on what came before, whether consciously or not. Authors read other authors, absorb influences, and create works that respond to, argue with, or elaborate on previous texts.
This intertextuality isn't limited to obvious cases like retellings of classic stories. It operates at every level, from borrowed plot structures to echoed phrases to shared symbolic systems. When you read with awareness of these connections, individual books become part of a vast, interconnected web of meaning.
This view of literature as conversation rather than isolated artifacts has profoundly changed how I read. I'm always looking for echoes and connections, not in a scholarly way, but with the pleasure of recognition you feel when you spot a friend in a crowd.
Beyond the Classroom
Foster's work has implications beyond academic literary study. The pattern-recognition skills he teaches apply to all kinds of narrative, from films to television shows to the stories we tell about our own lives. Once you understand how stories work, you become a more sophisticated consumer of all media.
More importantly, these skills make us better readers of the world around us. Politicians, advertisers, and other persuaders use the same symbolic language and narrative patterns that authors do. Recognizing these techniques helps us understand not just what we're being told, but how and why we're being told it.
The Ongoing Journey
Reading literature like a professor isn't a destination you reach but a journey you undertake. Every book you read with these principles in mind adds to your interpretive abilities. You'll start noticing patterns Foster doesn't mention, making connections he doesn't explore.
This is perhaps the greatest gift of Foster's approach—it's not prescriptive but enabling. He's not telling us what texts mean but giving us tools to discover meaning for ourselves. In an educational landscape often focused on correct answers, this emphasis on interpretive skill and personal insight feels revolutionary.
The curtains might indeed be blue just because the author liked the color. But they might also be blue because the character is depressed, because blue evokes the sea that separates the character from home, because blue was the favorite color of a lost love, or for any number of other reasons. Foster teaches us not to insist on any single interpretation but to remain open to the possibilities.
Reading literature like a professor ultimately means reading with attention, memory, and an awareness of the larger literary conversation. It means recognizing that authors make choices for reasons, even if those reasons aren't always conscious or clear. Most importantly, it means understanding that the meaning of a text emerges from the interaction between what the author creates and what the reader brings to the encounter.
This kind of reading transforms literature from entertainment or education into something richer—a form of communication that operates across time and space, connecting us to the full range of human experience. Foster shows us how to receive these messages more clearly, and in doing so, enriches not just our reading but our understanding of what it means to be human.
Authoritative Sources:
Foster, Thomas C. How to Read Literature Like a Professor: A Lively and Entertaining Guide to Reading Between the Lines. Harper, 2003.
Foster, Thomas C. How to Read Literature Like a Professor: For Kids. Harper, 2013.
Foster, Thomas C. How to Read Novels Like a Professor: A Jaunty Exploration of the World's Favorite Literary Form. Harper, 2008.
Foster, Thomas C. Reading the Silver Screen: A Film Lover's Guide to Decoding the Art Form That Moves. Harper, 2016.