The Art of Fiction
My friend sent me a copy of Kundera's The Betrayed Will, a book about the art of fiction. The book is long, and I disagree with some of it, and I don't understand some of it (the book is interlaced with staff, but I don't read music, and I don't have a piano at home), but I do understand and agree with most of it. My particular complaint about the book is that it makes no mention of the highest achievements of modern fiction: Calvino, Euthenal, Gunter Grass, Modigano, and an infrequent writer, Margaret Duras. As early as half a century ago, Zweig complained that even the works of the great masters contained elements of sheer redundancy. If he had lived to see the work of modern novelists, these complaints would have disappeared. Whether Kundera's failure to mention this achievement in modern fiction is due to peer jealousy or artistic disagreement, I don't know. Of course, Kundrati is free not to mention anyone. But if I write this book, I'm going to include it. Anyway, I agree with the author that there is indeed an art of the novel, which is far from universally understood. Kundera said: He who does not understand pleasure will not understand any art of fiction. In addition to know happy, but also know more, to understand the art of fiction. But if you don't know how to be happy, you can only spoil the novel. In the end, Kundera is right.