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Modernist Art of Fiction
Modernist Art of Fiction
[] of all the makers poets are apt to be the least communicative about their
processes, and, perhaps, owing in part to the ordinary nature of their
material, have little or nothing that they choose to discuss with outsiders.
The best way of surprising their secrets is very often to read their criticism.1
1
Virginia Woolf, The New Crusade, The Moment and Other Essays (London: The Hogarth Press,
1947) 201.
person. Maker is likely to imply a close and immediate relationship between
the one who makes and the thing that is made and an ensuing responsibility or
concern for what is turned out.[] In many of its human applications (as in
king maker, a maker of men, a maker of phrases) maker suggests the use of
appropriate material as an instrument through which one gives form to ones
ideas.2
The noun poet, which at first sight may pass unnoticed because of the
vulgar sense associated to it, i.e. one who writes poetry, a maker of verses,
acquires in Woolfs text an extended and deeper meaning in accordance with
the words etymology. A poet is a creative artist of great imaginative and
expressive gifts and special sensitivity to his medium. 3 Only in the light of this
latter acceptation of the term do we comfortably and logically place the poet in
the larger class of makers.
Communicative may be taken to literally mean talkative. Yet the term
proves far more open and rewarding if it is interpreted as relating to
communication. Communication implies the necessary existence of a
transmitter willing and able to transmit information, but also of a receiver,
whose contribution is indispensable to the process of meaning creation.
Literary communication is to a certain extent similar to ordinary
communication, mainly due to the ordinary nature of the poets material, that is
language. The distinction between the two resides in the processes, in Woolfs
terms, technique and style, in more specialised terms, the knowledge of
which makes readers be seen as insiders, and consequently as active
participants in the process of making. Since knowledge of processes and
technique is not implicit in reading, Woolf indicates the possibility to approach
a modernist writers creation from two sides, the creative and the critical, in
other words to contemplate the creator as doubled by the theorist and critic. It is
in this combination that Woolf seems to see the code of access to the meaning
of the writers work.
The turn-of-the-century writers, whose works record the clear passage
from the realist to the psychologically-oriented novel, agree that, if there should
2
Websters New Collegiate Dictionary, 8th series (Springfield, Massachusetts: G.&C. Merriam
Company, 1983).
3
Ibid.
be a change at all in point of novel writing, this change should reside in a shift
of focus from the description of the outer world to the representation of the
inner world. This shift of interest is accompanied by an increased concern with
the mechanisms of the art of writing, with the instruments writers should
develop in order to meet the requirements of their newly formulated content
purposes. The turn-of-the-century novelists, and, following the tradition they
set up, the modernists as well develop explicit theorising tendencies mainly
because they seem to be aware that they are supposed to face at least two
essential questions. The first one necessarily refers to what they mean by reality
under the new circumstances. The second is even more compelling. If reality,
or life, or spirit has changed, which seems to be the case, then it is clear that the
novelistic conventions that they inherited from their predecessors are no longer
satisfactory and need changing. Both questions require clarification on their
part, which may be the reason why these novelists always combine the creative
activity and the theoretical effort.
Yet what is interesting to notice in such a discussion devoted to the
writers contribution to the delimiting of what we are to see as the modern(ist)
novel is that not only the novelists who adopt a new standpoint to reality and
try to impose significant formal changes are keen on elucidating what they feel
to be a turning point in the novels theory and practice. Both the novelists that
Virginia Woolf calls materialists and those that she praises as novelists
concerned with the spirit consider it necessary to express a specific view
relating to the future of the genre. No matter what their attitude is to the formal
changes likely to occur as a result of a changing reality, most turn-of-the-
century and twentieth-century novelists see it as their duty to clarify aspects
relating to the destiny of the novel.
The letters exchanged by H.G. Wells and Henry James at the beginning of
the twentieth century are revealing in this respect. While openly disagreeing on
the purpose and practice of their art, the two writers seem to share the
conviction that the novel as an art form remains indispensable to the
understanding of the twentieth-century civilisation, although it clearly
distinguishes itself from the nineteenth-century novelistic offer. If this is an
attitude easy to accommodate within James system of thought, it is highly
unexpected from a writer like Wells, directly accused by a modernist like Woolf
of being a materialist. Yet, no matter what the two writers standpoint is, what
one can read behind the statements they made in their letters is that literature,
we may call it novel at this point, is ultimately a form of art. In 1915, H.G.
Wells wrote:
In much more radical terms, T. S. Eliot will see in James it is art that
makes life the only possible way of redemption for the modern spirit.
Referring to the technique Joyce used in Ulysses, Eliot considered literature to
be an antidote to the twentieth-century chaos. James had created in a period of
relative stability. Eliot sensed and experienced the disintegration of the
nineteenth-century value system and he found in Joyces use of myth, through
the parallel with Odyssey, the only possibility of facing and coping with the
twentieth-century pervading entropy.
There is, I am aware, the theory that the novel is wholly and solely a means
of relaxation. In spite of manifest facts, that was the dominant view of the
great period that we now in our retrospective way speak of as the Victorian,
and it still survives to this day. 6
Yet Wells does not seem willing to completely give up the idea of the
novel as a means. He only tries to associate to it a different purpose, which, in
his view, is the moral one. Thus, although apparently departing from the
Victorian novelistic tradition, he follows in the steps of his predecessors, by
insisting on the practicality and effectiveness of the novel as an instrument and
vehicle.
According to Wells, the value of art resides in the power to effect changes
upon the social and the individual. Wells also makes the mistake of judging the
novel by standards other than the artistic ones, mistake for which he is
penalised by the finely ironic reply given by Henry James in the above quoted
letter.
5
T. S. Eliot, Ulysses, Order and Myth, The Idea of Literature. The Foundations of English Criticism
(Moscow: Progress Publishers, 1979) 224.
6
H. G. Wells, The Contemporary Novel, The Idea of Literature. The Foundations of English
Criticism (Moscow: Progress Publishers, 1979) 159.
7
Ibid., 164.
You see now the scope of the claim I am making for the novel; it is to be the
social mediator, the vehicle of understanding, the instrument of self-
examination, the parade of morals and the exchange of manners, the factory
of customs, the criticism of laws and institutions and of social dogmas and
ideas.8
For the same mistake, Wells is held responsible, together with Galsworthy
and Bennett, for not having been able to adapt his technique and views on art to
the changing spirit of a new age. The Victorian writers are still praised by the
moderns for the way in which they made their work into an appropriate
response to a specific social, political and economic challenge. However, the
novelists who chose to follow in the Victorians steps when confronted with a
radically novel environment are severely indicted by a modernist like Woolf.
Our quarrel, then, is not with the classics, and if we speak of quarrelling
with Mr. Wells, Mr. Bennett, and Mr. Galsworthy, it is partly that by the
mere fact of their existence in the flesh their work has a living, breathing,
everyday imperfection which bids us take what liberties with it we choose.
[] If we tried to formulate our meaning in one word we should say that
these three writers are materialists. It is because they are concerned not with
the spirit but with the body that they have disappointed us, and left us with
the feeling that the sooner English fiction turns its back upon them, as
politely as may be, and marches, if only into the desert, the better for its
soul.9
8
H. G. Wells, The Contemporary Novel, 172.
9
Virginia Woolf, Modern Fiction, The Idea of Literature. The Foundations of English Criticism
(Moscow: Progress Publishers, 1979) 196-197.
enlarging upon what the novel should be made to express. In line with the
Victorians against whom he seems to make a stand, Wells gives prominence to
the novels content to the detriment of its form and medium, that is he
disregards exactly what keeps the novel distinct from the reality which it
reflects.
And it is inevitable that the novel, just in the measure of its sincerity and
ability, should reflect and co-operate in the atmosphere and uncertainties
and changing variety of this seething and creative time.10
Unlike Wells, Henry James and Joseph Conrad focus on what gives
specificity to the novel, on what distinguishes the novel as an art form from any
other art forms, on what keeps fiction distinct from reality while establishing a
necessary relationship with reality. At the turn of the century, the two writers
set up a new tradition, that of the modern(ist) novel, of which Wells had only
an intuition and for which he could offer only much too vague technical
solutions. James and Conrad revolutionised the theory of the modern novel not
by ostentatiously rejecting the Victorian conventions, which they assimilate to a
certain extent, but by privileging form and language as specifics of the art of
literature.
Henry Jamess theory of the novel, and especially that of the point of
view, plays a considerable part in the definition of the new conventions of the
modernist novel. By his essay The Art of Fiction, Henry James largely
contributes to the practice of modernism in the field of novel writing, adopting
a considerably different standpoint from that of the nineteenth-century
novelists.
At the end of the nineteenth century, the novelists develop a sense of self-
awareness, considering it their task to depart from the tradition of the novel as
an overflow of story-telling gift, on the part of the writer, or as entertainment,
on the part of the reader. This is the tradition that H.G. Wells also delimited, but
never counteracted. James pleads in favour of fiction being autonomous, thus
entitled to exist in its own rights and by its own rules, and not as an offspring of
10
H. G. Wells, The Contemporary Novel, 168.
reality, whose complexity was far greater than whatever a work of fiction could
presumptuously assume it possible to express.
Only a short time ago it might have been supposed that the English novel
was not what the French call discutable. It had no air of having a theory, a
conviction, a consciousness of itself behind it of being the expression of
an artistic faith, the result of choice and comparison.11
The old superstition about fiction being wicked has doubtless died out in
England, but the spirit of it lingers in a certain oblique regard directed
towards any story which does not more or less admit that it is only a joke.
[] It is still expected, though perhaps people are ashamed to say it, that a
production which is after all only a make believe (for what else is a
story?) shall be in some degree apologetic shall renounce the
pretension of attempting really to compete with life. 12
11
Henry James, The Art of Fiction, Longmans Magazine 4, 1884 (www. esterni.unibg.it/siti-
esterni/rls/essays/James) 5.
12
Ibid., 5-6.
take part in the process of knowledge since it functions according to the laws of
the verisimilar (conformity to the real) or according to the laws of the necessary
(conformity to the logic). Literature, poetry in Aristotles terms, is and is not
reality at the same time.13
The fundamental condition of existence of literature resides in the
opposition between fiction and reality. Relying on the Aristotelian concept of
mimesis understood as representation, it may be argued that fiction is,
paradoxically, different from reality, while simultaneously using reality as its
material. What distinguishes fiction from reality is the former functioning as a
sub-assembly of the linguistic system. The autonomous status of literature can
be defined only starting from the centrality of language to the literary system. 14
Without being particularly specific about it, James pleads in favour of the
autonomy of fiction as art, by focusing on the similarities between the art of
fiction and the art of painting. If the status of painting as art has never been
contested, as it benefits from a medium of expression which is only its own, the
fact that fiction represents reality by sharing the medium with ordinary
communication has very often contributed to it being relegated to a position of
subordination, of subservience to reality. The essence of the lesson James tries
to teach his fellow novelists is to be found in the concept of form, i.e. literary
language. Only by admitting the centrality of language to the creative process
can one help fiction out of the impasse of being treated as a parasite which
draws sustenance from life and must in gratitude resemble life or perish.15
The only reason for the existence of a novel is that it does compete with life.
When it ceases to compete as the canvas of the painter competes, it will
have arrived at a very strange pass. It is not expected of the picture that it
will make itself humble in order to be forgiven; and the analogy between the
art of the painter and the art of the novelist is, so far as I am able to see,
complete. Their inspiration is the same, their process (allowing for the
different quality of the vehicle) is the same, their success is the same. []
13
see Gabriela Duda, Introducere n teoria literaturii (Bucureti: Editura All, 1998)
14
see Kte Hamburger, Logique des genres littraires (Paris: Editions du Seuil, 1986)
15
Virginia Woolf, The Art of Fiction, The Moment and Other Essays (London: The Hogarth Press,
1947) 93.
Their cause is the same, and the honour of one is the honour of another.
Peculiarities of manner, of execution, that correspond on either side, exist in
each of them and contribute to their development.16
James tries to contradict the view that the novel is a novel, as a pudding
is a pudding17, adopting the position of the creator with complete knowledge,
and thus in perfect control of his art. This is the main heritage that he bestows
upon his fellow modernist writers. The distinctiveness of modernist fiction has,
more often than not, been accounted for in terms of a severe break with and
rejection of the eighteenth or nineteenth-century novel. Yet, on a closer reading
of modernism, one could discover that the modernist novelists are more
deferential to realism, and to the readers of realism in particular, than it may
superficially show. The distinctiveness of modernism, in line with the tradition
set up by Henry James, resides in the novelists determination to approach
fiction as art less than in his stubborn intention to depart from the literary
conventions of the preceding centuries. Under the pressure exercised by a
changing reality, or life in Jamess terms, that they wish to express, the
modernists consciously investigate the inherited forms, trying to adapt them to
the new meaning requirements.
In a manner, implicitly or explicitly adopted by all the twentieth-century
modernists, James does not discard the Victorian novel as artistically inferior to
the modern one. He also refrains from qualifying it as inappropriately equipped
to express the depth and complexity of life. The epithets James selects to point
to the difference between Victorian and modern literature are the French naf
vs. discutable. These epithets suggest in no way James looking down upon the
artistic achievements of writers such as Dickens or Thackeray. They are part of
the contained critical vocabulary of a person whose obvious intention of
challenging the inherited novelistic forms does not necessarily imply rejecting
them from a position of superiority. What James tries to hint at is that the
changes in sensibility at the turn of the century require new forms of
expression, but, even more poignantly, a new attitude of writers to the
institution of literature.
16
Henry James, The Art of Fiction, 6.
17
Ibid., 5.
[I]t would take much more courage than I possess to intimate that the form
of the novel, as Dickens and Thackeray (for instance) saw it had any taint
of incompleteness. It was, however, naf (if I may help myself out with
another French word) and, evidently, if it is destined to suffer in any way
for having lost its navet it has now an idea of making sure of the
corresponding advantages.18
In making any survey, even the freest and loosest, of modern fiction, it is
difficult not to take it for granted that the modern practice of the art is
somehow an improvement upon the old. With their simple tools and
primitive materials, it might be said, Fielding did well and Jane Austen
even better, but compare their opportunities with ours! [] We do not
come to write better; all that we can be said to do is to keep moving, now
a little in this direction, now in that, but with a circular tendency should
the whole course of the track be viewed from a sufficiently lofty
pinnacle.19
18
Henry James, The Art of Fiction, 5.
19
Virginia Woolf, Modern Fiction, 195-196.
standpoint expressed in more general terms in Tradition and the Individual
Talent.
No poet, no artist of any art, has his complete meaning alone. His
significance, his appreciation is the appreciation of his relation to the dead
poets and artists. You cannot value him alone; you must set him, for contrast
and comparison, among the dead. I mean this as a principle of aesthetic, not
merely historical, criticism.20
T. S. Eliot goes even further in his analysis of the relationship between the
present and the past. By relying on the concept of tradition, the critic
emphasises the indispensability of the creators awareness of the present-past
relationship to the creative process. Awareness of the past means implicitly
internalising its values, no matter if these values are assimilated or rejected.
Under the circumstances, it is impossible for Eliot to accept the idea that the
new implies an improvement upon the old. From Eliots point of view, what
matters is exactly the circularity of the process, which Woolf also noticed. It is
not improvement that the modern art presupposes, but change of the premise
from which it starts.
[The poet] must be quite aware of the obvious fact that art never improves,
but that the material of art is never quite the same. [] That this
development, refinement perhaps, complication certainly, is not, from the
point of view of the artist, any improvement. [] But the difference
between the present and the past is that the conscious present is an
awareness of the past in a way and to an extent which the pasts awareness
of itself cannot show.21
The definition of the modern art, from James point of view as well, is
underlain by the idea that any form of novelty is perceived as such only against
the background of the existing forms. Novelty is not to be judged in absolute
terms. Moreover, newness, and this is the point that James, so much accused of
ignoring his audience, seems to make, is dependent on the readers perception,
20
T. S. Eliot, Tradition and the Individual Talent, 215.
21
Ibid., 216.
as much as it is on the writers innovation. Awareness should lie central to any
artistic enterprise, as the essential ingredient of a process of development. The
modern mind is characterised by inquisitiveness and it is the power to question
and challenge that makes all the difference between the literature of the turn of
the century and the Victorian one.
Art lives upon discussion, upon experiment, upon curiosity, upon variety of
attempt, upon the exchange of views and the comparison of standpoints, and
there is a presumption that those times when no one has anything particular
to say about it, and has no reason to give for practice or preference, though
they may be times of genius, are not times of development, are times
possibly even, a little, of dullness. The successful application of any art is a
delightful spectacle, but the theory, too, is interesting; and though there is a
great deal of the latter in the former, I suspect there has never been a
genuine success that has not had a latent core of conviction. Discussion,
suggestion, formulation, these things are fertilising when they are frank and
sincere.22
The key word in the above quoted passage is art, concept that becomes
central to all the modern theory of the novel. In Conrads opinion, shared by all
the other modernist writers, the novelist is an artist, or a craftsman, whose
condition of existence resides in his being capable of speaking, in expressing
life through language, which is the specific medium of literature. It is only by
language that the artist can investigate and interpret outer or inner reality.
22
Henry James, The Art of Fiction, 5.
23
Joseph Conrad, Henry James. An Appreciation, The Idea of Literature. The Foundations of English
Criticism (Moscow: Progress Publishers, 1979) 150.
cultural background. Literature is art. Both James and Conrad are aware that
this status can be argued for only starting from the centrality of language to the
literary system, Conrad being, however, more explicit and straightforward than
James in this respect. He has the perfect intuition of the twentieth-century
option in matters of novel writing when presenting the novel as exclusively an
art of the word or, better said, as an art of words. Its success and quality
depends on its integrity, i.e. on the blending of content and form, as well as on
an exquisite and new use of words.
24
Joseph Conrad, Preface to The Nigger of the Narcissus, The Idea of Literature. The Foundations
of English Criticism (Moscow: Progress Publishers) 145.
Humanity is immense and reality has a myriad forms. [] Experience is
never limited and it is never complete; it is an immense sensibility, a kind of
huge spider-web, of the finest silken threads, suspended in the chamber of
consciousness and catching every air-borne particle in its tissue. It is the
very atmosphere of the mind; and when the mind is imaginative, much more
when it happens to be that of a man of genius it takes to itself the faintest
hints of life, it converts the very pulses of the air into revelations.25
The power to guess the unseen from the seen, to trace the implication of
things, to judge the whole piece by the pattern, the condition of feeling life,
in general, so completely that you are well on your way to knowing any
particular corner of it this cluster of gifts may almost be said to constitute
experience, and they occur in country and in town, and in the most differing
stages of education. If experience consists of impressions, it may be said
that impressions are experience, just as (have we not seen it?) they are the
very air we breathe.26
25
Henry James, The Art of Fiction, 9.
26
Henry James, The Art of Fiction, 9.
Just as in the case of the twentieth-century modernist literature, whose
tradition James initiated, veiled but compulsory reference is made to the reader,
on whose presence and contribution the meaning of the literary work depends.
The effect that James mentions absolves him from the guilt of having ignored
his audience, intending his art, in the best of situations, for a reading elite. The
existence of an effect implies the necessary and active presence of the one on
whom this effect can be traceable.
Although the novel is probably the most protean of all literary forms,
being at the same time doomed to remember that reading can be performed
only from left to right and from beginning to end, and that it always takes
longer to read a novel than to contemplate a painting, what Henry James
theoretically expresses and practically proves by his novels is that the novel
represents a structure and, in consequence, it can be properly approached only
in its integrity. Character, incident, narrator, point of view, plot are relevant
only to the extent to which they contribute to the interpretation of the novel as a
whole. The integrity of the novel, as the expression of the writers intention, is
to be found in the interaction of these categories.
As a creating artist, James develops an acute interest in form, the intricacy
of his style sometimes tending to blur the content of his novels. As a critic, he
is determined to see fiction as art only in the unity of form and content.
The story and the novel, the idea and the form, are the needle and thread,
and I never heard of a guild of tailors who recommended the use of the
thread without the needle or the needle without the thread.27
We must grant the artist his subject, his idea, what the French call his
donne; our criticism is applied only to what he makes of it. [] If we
28
Joseph Conrad, Henry James. An Appreciation, 153.
pretend to respect the artist at all we must allow him his freedom of choice,
in the face, in particular cases, of innumerable presumptions that the choice
will not fructify. Art derives a considerable part of its beneficial exercise
from flying in the face of presumptions, and some of the most interesting
experiments of which it is capable are hidden in the bosom of common
things.29
At some moment later, Woolf proves that she pays similar attention to
form considering it indispensable to the expression of the writers intention.
Woolf stresses the creators freedom to choose that method that he considers
appropriate for a proper relationship between writer and reader to be
established. In her view, any method will do on condition it is properly used to
serve the novelists intention. Yet, from the way in which she encourages the
use of any method, one may wrongly believe that the effect of disorder and
randomness that the modernist work sometimes produces on the reader is the
result of an imperfect, if any at all, choice of method.
Any method is right, every method is right, that expresses what we wish to
express, if we are writers; that brings us closer to the novelists intention if
we are readers.30
29
Henry James, The Art of Fiction, 11.
30
Virginia Woolf, Modern Fiction, 200.
writings, as a sign of the self-awareness condition towards which literature
directs itself.
By the same token, one major problem for the modernist novelists, prone
to constant controversy, is whether certain subjects are more poetic than others,
or some are more likely to become the proper stuff of literature. The answer
Woolf finds is that poeticity is inherent in the treatment of the subject and not
in the subject as such. Whatever is life, no matter how trivial or extraordinary,
should become part of the novelists interest. The essence of life or reality does
not necessarily lie in the obviousness of sonorous events. It is more likely to
appear in the ordinariness of the small thing.
A farmyard, with its straw, its dung, its cocks and its hens, is not (we have
come to think) a poetic subject; poets seem either to rule out the farmyard
entirely or to require that it shall be a farmyard in Thessaly and its pigs of
mythological origin.32
31
Virginia Woolf, Modern Fiction, 201.
32
Virginia Woolf, The Pastons and Chaucer, The Common Reader (London: The Hogarth Press, 1962)
27.
centred. Under the circumstances, it is absolutely necessary that the methods of
novel writing should be rethought and adapted to the new spirit of a new age.
Let us record the atoms as they fall upon the mind in the order in which they
fall, let us trace the pattern, however disconnected and incoherent in
appearance, which each sight or incident scores upon the consciousness. Let
us not take it for granted that life exists more fully in what is commonly
thought big than in what is commonly thought small.33
It would be unfair to the public not to refer to the indecency of Ulysses. The
book is not pornographic, and can produce on nobody the effects of a
33
Virginia Woolf, Modern Fiction, 199.
pornographic book. But it is more indecent, obscene, scatological and
licentious than the majority of professedly pornographic books. James Joyce
sticks at nothing. He forbids himself no word. He says everything
everything.34
34
Arnold Bennett, James Joyces Ulysses, The Idea of Literature. The Foundations of English
Criticism (Moscow: Progress Publishers) 209.
35
Ibid., 209.
36
Ibid., 208.
37
Ibid., 208.
and its inhabitants is mean, hostile, and uncharitable. He has a colossal
down on humanity.38
They attempt to come closer to life, and to preserve more sincerely and
exactly what interests and moves them, even if to do so they must discard
most of the conventions which are commonly observed by the novelist. []
Mr. Joyce is spiritual; he is concerned at all costs to reveal the flickerings of
that innermost flame which flashes its messages through the brain, and in
38
Arnold Bennett, James Joyces Ulysses, 208.
39
T. S. Eliot, Ulysses, Order and Myth, 224.
order to preserve it he disregards with complete courage whatever seems to
him adventitious, whether it be probability, or coherence, or any other of
these signposts which for generations have served to support the
imagination of a reader when called upon to imagine what he can neither
touch nor see.40
James feels it the duty of the modern novelist to free the novel from the
restrictions imposed on it by the nineteenth-century sense of public value
translated into the much too limiting novelistic conventions. Yet modernity, in
James view, is a time variable and it means appropriately adapting to the spirit
of the age. By elegantly, even cautiously handling the matter, James seems to
prepare the reader for the advent of the modern novel, shocking as it may be.
The reader is warned against the danger of traditionalism and unquestioned
acceptance of shared values and invited to grant the novel the freedom it needs
to become a proper expression instrument of the twentieth century.
Half a century later, Woolf expressed ideas similar to James in an essay
also entitled The Art of Fiction. The modernist Woolf follows James and
Conrads example, considering theory and theorising upon the novel to be
essential to the creative activity.
In the essay Modern Fiction, Woolf attempts to define her position both
to the nineteenth-century novelists and to her contemporary fellow writers,
being more direct, where James had been only ironically oblique.
Paradoxically, if James and Conrad, half Victorians in their practice,
theoretically opened up incontestable paths towards the modern novel, by a
professed break with the past, the modernist Woolf, a radical experimenter,
40
Virginia Woolf, Modern Fiction, 199-200.
41
Virginia Woolf, The Art of Fiction, 90.
chooses to renegotiate her and her contemporaries relationship to the past, by
an explicit effort of assimilation.
In making any survey, even the freest and loosest, of modern fiction, it is
difficult not to take it for granted that the modern practice of the art is
somehow an improvement upon the old.42
Whether we call it life or spirit, truth or reality, this, the essential thing, has
moved off, or on, and refuses to be contained any longer in such ill-fitting
vestments as we provide. Nevertheless, we go on perseveringly,
conscientiously, constructing our two and thirty chapters after a design
which more and more ceases to resemble the vision of our minds.43
42
Virginia Woolf, Modern Fiction, 196.
43
ibid., 198.
complexity it may display, with as little mixture of the alien and the external
as possible?44
The proper stuff of fiction does not exist; everything is the proper stuff of
fiction, every feeling, every thought; every quality of brain and spirit is
drawn upon; no perception comes amiss. And if we can imagine the art of
fiction come alive and standing in our midst, she would undoubtedly bid us
break her and bully her, as well as honour and love her, for so her youth is
renewed and her sovereignty assured.45
44
Virginia Woolf, Modern Fiction, 199.
45
Ibid., 202.