"I've been wondering about Dostoyevsky," I said. "How can a man write so badly, so unbelievably badly, and make you feel so deeply?"
Ernest Hemingway in A Moveable Feast.
Isn't that precisely our question? I don't think anyone here wants to reduce Beauty to a system of rules. As soon as we did, we'd have to confront this problematic - good art often does exactly what we're sure it shouldn't.