T.S. Eliot, a pause

So I've spent the last month or so re reading Eliot's criticism; The Sacred Wood, The Use of Poetry and the Use of Criticism, After Strange Gods (of which more later), On Poetry and Poets, To Criticize the Critic (ditto).

I've also read criticisms of that criticism, some of it in the critical context of critical histories of criticism in its institutionalized form, which tend to be highly critical and which itself is often criticised for being too critical or not critical enough, or not applying the appropriate critical framework, and I have reached the point where I am no longer sure what the criticism of the criticism is actually criticising.

At which point I can only put on William Byrd's mass for three voices and look at the clouds.