One of the central questions Éamonn Dunne addresses in his remarkable study of Hillis Miller's work as literary critic and theorist is how one does justice to what one reads. While this is the main focus of the book's chapter titled “Just Reading,” the question is pursued throughout and is never really allowed to subside. On the contrary, Dunne doubles up or doubles down on the question more than once when he reminds us that it is not just Miller's as he reads and writes about literature or theory but must also be, a fortiori, his own, Dunne's. Dunne, above all, would do justice to Miller's oeuvre, which is itself a manifold exploration of what it might mean to do justice to another's writing.But if justice can never be merely a matter of calculation, of applying the law to a case that is thereby made to fall fully within it, then it will somewhere have to entail a leap outside the bounds of what is known or even knowable. In other words, if it is possible to do justice, then this act (doing justice) must somewhere, somehow allow for the incalculable. This means that the possibility of doing justice in reading is indissociable from the impossibility of realizing this in the full presence of knowledge to itself, without remainder. Consequently, one will never know in the present that one is or has been just as a reader.For Dunne, this logic of the impossible possibility, of the im-possibility (to take over Derrida's mode of spacing out the differance of possibility/impossibility) of justice is essential to his understanding of the significance of Miller's oeuvre. It is one of the reasons he completes the title and the name “J. Hillis Miller” by using a phrase with possibilities: “and the Possibilities of Literature.” In his preface, Dunne outlines very lucidly some of the possibilities of that titling phrase. The question it suspends—rather than answers—is precisely that of how to read and thus how to read rightly, justly, doing justice to what one reads. He writes: This is one reason why my title refers to possibilities of reading, and why I also believe that good reading, perhaps the only kind of reading worthy of the name, comes about as an inaugural event that changes one's views about what that “how to” in reading actually means. (x, emphasis in the original) The question “how to” hangs suspended from those acts we call reading. Acts worthy of that name are of the same good kind, Dunne believes. They lead one to suspend the question of “how to read” from an “inaugural event,” whereby something radically unfigurable, secret, unaccountable, or unknowable hovers at and marks the limit of known possibility.According to Dunne, this secret, unaccountable something is fascinating; it fascinates the reader who is Hillis Miller: The strength of Miller's work is that it is endlessly fascinated and fascinating as a result. I have been drawn to these writings by a shared fascination with what is unaccountable in works of literature I have read, studied, and taught over the years. This book was written in the hope that this fascination might proliferate and perhaps even instruct, though one can never know for sure what will happen in the event of it being read. (xi–xii) Notice how fascination proliferates through this passage, as if it were right away fulfilling the promise or hope it utters here—that “this fascination” proliferate. Miller's work, we read, is “endlessly fascinated and fascinating as a result.” Something begins to repeat here but also to divide onto at least two surfaces, fascinated and fascinating, touched and touching. It is the spacing of a certain difference within it that proliferates as fascination. Thus, when one speaks, as Dunne does here, of “a shared fascination,” one cannot entirely know what that means. For what is shared is also spaced out and divided, which turns or veers sense away from any single or certain destination. What proliferates is this proliferation of senses and destinations.Or so one hopes (“that this fascination might proliferate”), and yet only up to a certain limit. This is the limit traced by yet another possibility of reading when it, as we say, “goes too far,” that is, when it transgresses some implied boundary of the work itself, which boundary appears, however, only in its transgression. But Dunne quite clearly is not concerned to test the boundary of Miller's oeuvre with acts of reading that risk going too far and putting in question reading's essential trait, which is its anchoring in the work being read. This is not to say that the chapters remain altogether within the literal compass drawn by Miller by means of his own innumerable acts of reading. But even when Dunne steps most patently outside that compass—so as to perform, for example, his subtle scan of a certain visor effect in Macbeth (94–96)—the steps always lead from and back to Miller's example. This is not surprising, of course; indeed, it's only what should be expected in a book “devoted exclusively to examining Miller's work” (back cover).Nevertheless, one may regret it just a little, perhaps especially at all those moments when Dunne feels obliged to draw out how Miller is himself drawing out aspects of—especially if not exclusively—Derrida's or de Man's thought. It's as if Dunne could not avoid being caught up himself in what often sounds like an echo between Miller and his principal tutelary thinkers, even as what is at stake is a responsibility for reading that obeys no given law. Dunne states clearly this paradox of the undecidable decision for which one takes responsibility: Like the judge in a courtroom, all the evidence must be weighed up meticulously in order for a responsible verdict to be reached. But the final moment of that verdict, when the decision is actually made is outside of the law. Something else comes about to remake the law at that moment, to change it. Otherwise the decision is not a just decision but a calculation, an application of a rule and therefore uninventive and irresponsible to the singularity of the decision: “The judge or the maker of a moral decision must respect the rules … but at the same time he or she must respect the singularity of a situation that never fits the rules…. It is impossible to decide between these two equally compelling obligations. The conflict is undecidable, though in a given situation one must decide.” The response to this event of the wholly other is always a singular occurrence and will be different for everyone. (119–20) This passage from very near the end of the book's conclusion is full of echoes: Dunne echoes and quotes Miller echoing and quoting Derrida. Dunne's book has, inevitably, numerous such moments when this repeated echoing effect dulls one's ability to hear the fracas of some inaugural event that, we recall, Dunne takes as the trait of good reading: “good reading comes about as an inaugural event.”Yet this only means that you need to attune your hearing better to the event of this book, “the first devoted exclusively to examining Miller's work.” Its quality of attention, its thoroughness of research, and its inventive extensions of Miller's readings (of James, De Quincey, Kleist, Stevens, Hawthorne, Yeats, and still others) set a high bar for the future of J. H. Miller studies, a future that it evokes or convokes. We've seen how in the preface that future is envisioned—or hoped for—in the figure of a proliferated fascination, which cannot be made to stop at the boundaries of any one work. At the other end of the book, however, in the course of a fascinating interview with Miller, Dunne configures this future in the guise of research, which is seemingly at the other end of the scale from fascination. Dunne introduces a question to Miller about research like this: Seeing as I'm researching a book on your work, I would very much like to know a little more about your own research experience…. I should like to revisit that point here in the event that other researchers might read this book in future years. (137) One could say, then, that Dunne's book unfolds between fascination and research. Its achievement is to have sustained and suspended the one by the other, to have let each hold open the future of the other. As a result, the future of J. H. Miller studies has never looked so bright.