Evenson’s fiction reads cumulatively like satire on endemic human weaknesses that at last have provoked a supernatural break with a reality no longer able to contain them.
[ECHO TREE] surely does underscore Dumas’s talent as a writer of fiction, although at the same time reminding us that he was so barbarously prevented from fully harvesting that talent.
What, then, distinguishes such a novel as TIGHT LITTLE VOCAL CORDS from the very many novels — going back to the very beginning of the form — that assimilate “other” modes of writing
Readers of THE MASOCHIST in translation may be less aware of Perat’s poetic prose, but few are likely to experience this as something that undermines the cogency of Nadezhda Moser’s voice.
Why would the exploration of the formal possibilities (in all their complexity) not be just as crucial to the integrity of fiction as evoking emotion in the reader?