Scott Turow, foreword, By the Book
Scott Turow |
It may even take a few generations to discover whether a particular book qualifies as literature or not. Some novels are widely read and appreciated when they are first published, but then are quickly forgotten. Sometimes these books are rediscovered and their literary value recognized years later. With most books, however, once forgotten, always forgotten.
A few weeks ago I read Anthony Trollope's 1879 novel Cousin Henry. The fact that the book remains in print indicates somebody recognizes its literary value. And I found, as I wrote in my review (July 24), that the story spoke to me, even though it was about people in a different time and place and about a situation, a contested will for the inheritance of a large estate, that I will never experience. Even so I could relate to these people and their attitudes and behavior. It seemed contemporary to me.
If all literature is contemporary literature, as Turow argues, I would add that all fiction is historical fiction. When Cousin Henry was written, it was a contemporary novel. Nearly 150 years later we read it both as being about us now but also about a culture that no longer exists. Historical writers today may attempt to capture something of 19th century England, but Trollope did that for us while writing about his own time.
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