what if the great american novel is like jesus? reviled in its home town

Posted on November 3, 2011


in lieu of Kevin Sheilds, which I know is old news, blaming the Idea of the Novel for the bad crop of contemporary novels is like those physicians of the plague years who blamed the rats and not the flees; they’re ignoring the middle man, the real devil, the market, which is always hoping, hope against hope to publish the next great seller, while, ignoring as it were, the Real Literature, which is being returned, stamped rejected. There is undoubtedly, the secret book, un-heard of, the greatest novel ever, that each and every one of fiction’s haters has not read yet, nor anyone else. How many stacks of brilliant heart breaking works are languishing in closets or have already been burnt out of rage?  We may never know