varying degrees of light

I wonder of the correlation between how 'good' we consider something to be -- whether, and how much, we love something -- and to what degree said object, idea, piece or person affects us. These are sprawling questions, I know, but it's difficult for a novel to be written if the protagonist is forgettable. David Foster Wallace wrote that every piece of fiction is a lie. I agree and, more significantly, am intrigued with his claim. Aren't we enthralled anyway? Don't we find ourselves captivated in the realm of what could fairly be described as make-believe? The ideas and characters that linger with us -- isn't that what beauty is, even if terrifying and challenging?