![]() Publishers, readers, booksellers, even critics, acclaim the novel that one can deliciously sink into, forget oneself in, the novel that returns us to the innocence of childhood or the dream of the cartoon, the novel of a thousand confections and no unwanted significance. And the purer the storytelling the better-where purity is the embrace of sheer occurrence, unburdened by deeper meaning. The novel now aspires to the regality of the boxed DVD set: the throne is a game of them. Easy to consume, too, because it excites hunger while simultaneously satisfying it: we continuously want more. The novel form can be difficult, cumbrously serious storytelling is all pleasure, fantastical in its fertility, its ceaseless inventiveness. Meaning is a bit of a bore, but storytelling is alive. Rowling’s magical Owl of Minerva, equipped for a thousand tricks and turns-flies up and fills the air. Illustration by Sachin TengĪs the novel’s cultural centrality dims, so storytelling-J. ![]() Mitchell has written a theological novel of sorts, in which human beings are mere pawns to be used by his feuding immortals. ![]()
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