Who do you consider a good writer? The man that touches you. The man that calls for your heart, specifically. The man that extends a hand into your reality and whispers your name, pleading for you, so you can enter his dream. The man who erases the boundaries between your world and his while not even being there. The silent reverie you find between his pages, that he left there for you, and you only.
That is why reading will always be a subjective matter and it will never affect everyone in the same way. Of course, there are authors more acclaimed than others, but their merit is that they were able to find the words in this vast human language to speak to more people, to open more eyes and touch more hearts.
We will always be bound by our perceptions, when we read, but because our experience with books, our reality is like a tightly sewed fish net, ready to catch even the faintest idea upon its surface and hold it in. But, as it happens with all of us who know books better than we know ourselves, we have developed the capacity to loose the net out. We choose what stays and what swims away, and we are the rulers of our tangled, messy maze. The good writer's merit, the only one I know to be true, is his ability to detect and understand our nets and cling on to a thread of it, letting his hooks grasp into one of the wires and enforce it. Our minds are stronger, that way.
Even as they float, tangled, our minds have met the ocean's experienced sailors, and if only because of that, our minds are free.