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"[on an unnamed book] This is not a novel to be tossed aside lightly. It should be thrown with great force."
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Novel"For novelists, there is one big idea, always present and always demanding of attention. It goes something like this: what does it mean to be human? How can we conduct our lives to best effect? For many readers, the novel is as close as we ever come to philosophy. And it may be quite close enough. Ideas, big and little, should never be discounted in the novel because "its only fiction." Its fiction, all right, but not only."
A novel is an extended work of narrative fiction usually written in prose and published as a book. The word derives from the Italian: novella for 'new', 'news', or 'short story ', itself from the Latin: novella, a singular noun use of the neuter plural of novellus, diminutive of novus, meaning 'new'. According to Margaret Doody, the novel has "a continuous and comprehensive history of about two th
"[on an unnamed book] This is not a novel to be tossed aside lightly. It should be thrown with great force."
"Sir, ’said Stephen,‘ I read novels with the utmost pertinacity. I look upon them--I look upon good novels--as a very valuable part of literature, conveying more exact and finely-distinguished knowledge of the human heart and mind than almost any other, with greater breadth and depth and fewer constraints.”"
"...in a volume of dozen lines of Milton, Proper and Prior, with a paper from the Spectator and a chapter from the Sterne are eulogized by a thousand pens-there seems almost a general wish of decrying the capacity and undervaluing the labour of the novelist, and slighting the performance which have only genius, wit and taste to recommend them."
"Punning on the typographical and literary meaning of the word “character” and exploiting the resemblance of the “word” with “world”, Moore has identified the purpose of transpositions like this which continue throughout the novel: I was inspired by the idea of anagram, which is the rearrangement of characters to make new worlds."
"Diana felt she was beginning to understand why, in all those novels she read, the headiest loves were the loves that couldnt be."
"Jane: What do you think of his book Arthur? Gideon: I dont think of it. Ive had no reason to, particularly. Ive not had to review it. ...Im afraid Im hopeless about novels just now, thats the fact. Im sick of the form—slices of life served up cold in three hundred pages. Oh, its very nice; it makes nice reading for people. But whats the use? Except, of course, to kill time for those who prefer it dead. But as things in themselves, as art, theyve been ruined by excess. My critical sense is blunted just now. I can hardly feel the difference, though I can see it, between a good novel and a bad one. I couldnt write one, good or bad, to save my life, I know that. And Ive got to the stage when I wish other people wouldnt. I wish everyone would shut up, so that we could hear ourselves think..."