Although critics will endlessly retread tired discussions concerning fiction vs. reality (and therefore the exhausted conversation about realism), that isn’t really what’s at stake here. What’s happening is that new novels — like the abovementioned 10:04, The Wallcreeper, and My Struggle — are redistributing the relation between the self and fiction. Fiction is no longer seen as false or lies or make-believe. Instead it is more like Kenneth Burke’s definition of literature as equipment for living. Fiction includes the narratives we tell ourselves, and the stories we’re told, on the path between birth and death. Nor is the infamous postmodern pastiche anywhere to be found in this year’s crop of autofictional novels. These authors have rejected the old patchwork of genres and styles and myths primarily because the life of the author is now the novel’s organizing principle. And life, drained of religiosity, often leads to questions of the body and its environment.
Posted on: Mon, 05 Jan 2015 00:48:30 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015