| Abstrakt: |
There's a story you could tell about the history of the novel in the West over the past hundred years or so, which would go something like this: Since World War I, European novelists have looked inward, while American novelists have looked outward. In the modernist novel, Proust, Woolf, Joyce and others ventured consciousness and memory as the deepest themes of the form, and experimentation as its impetus, following markers laid down by Kafka and Henry James; meanwhile, in our own young country, writers like Hemingway, Fitzgerald and Steinbeck sought, by a certain romantic impulse traceable to Wharton and Twain, to describe in fairly unadorned narrative style the individual facing modernity, in all its thrilling, lethal contours. [ABSTRACT FROM PUBLISHER] |
