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It's a remarkable novel, and its concerns about the differences between fantasies and reality are still relevant. Much of Beagle's oeuvre deals with this regardless of how long the story is- he is a fantasy writer constantly in negotiation with the rules of his game.

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Yes, that's fair. Writers in negotiation with the rules of their game, and of their genre, have been a feature of literature for quite some time now. The difficulty with that, of course, is that readers are not always going to be as interested in the rules of the game as the writer is.

Another aspect of this is that the rules of the game are often a reflection of some particular social, cultural, or political movement, but may persist in the genre long after the moment that gave them birth has passed. I recognize the time that gave birth to the conventions of the fantasy genre, and the negotiation with the rules of a genre are in part an expression of how times have changed since the rules were forged. And, of course, the times (and perhaps the rules) have changed again since The Last Unicorn was written -- thus my question about whether it fits the present moment.

But that, of course, is a question one could ask of any classic.

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Great reflection, Mark. Yes, there’s a permanent cadence between breathing and diving with no accounting for taste. Publishing later on similar theme - be interested in your thoughts. Speaks to previous convo on post/modernism. I think it was one of McCarthy’s criticisms of Beckett’s fiction that it was all too knowing - too much toying with the reader. I think the heart of it is ‘empathy’. Immersives critique the character distancing that results when writers wilfully interrupt the dive. Disrupters critique the immersion as puerile or ostrich-like and therefore falsely empathetic. I actually agree with both. Suspect it all stands or falls in the execution itself, but that sure is a dark art.

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As someone whose mantra is that language is stories all the way down, I have to concede that novels are not just use for the "pure" purpose of telling a story, but may also be used as a vehicle for other things, such as social or political commentary or philosophical inquiry. I do tend to bristle, though, at any suggestion that it is only those things, only the social or political commentary or philosophical inquiry that give a novel merit or purpose. As I have said before, being is meaning enough; love is purpose enough.

The reason that the disruptors disrupt is that they are using the novel for a purpose other than its pure purpose of telling a story. And that's fine. They are entitled to do that, and people are entitled to like it, and I like it myself sometimes. What I can't abide is any hint of a sneer in it. And what I find all too often, especially in literary fiction, is that note of a sneer that comes through, not so much sneering at the reader, but inviting the reader to sneer along with the author. I don't think Beagle does that, but there is an element of "look how clever we both are to play this trick with language and story and to find it ironic." Not quite a sneer, but on a path that can easily lead to sneering.

Of course, you don't have to disrupt the narrative to tell a story with a political or social commentary in it. What fascinates me are the works that were written with a clear political and social motive but which I have survived and become classics long after the things they were commenting on were moot. The Grapes of Wrath and Oliver Twist are perfect examples. To me, they say that you can write pure story and have political and social commentary come out of the pure story you tell. And that, to me, is the way it should be done. But it also requires execution of the highest kind.

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With you. The sneer is a self-consuming snake and bastardisation of story art - Martin Amis’s toes were edging too far into that camp for my money. And yes, I don’t think it ever works if the story is a mere Trojan Horse for ‘issues’ or peacocking. I think disruptive stories can work in the way you described, though - enjoying the architectural or linguistic brilliance whilst still caring enough about the characters.

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Yes, and I think Beagle does achieve that. We do still care about the characters, even after all the metafictional acrobatics. Which, ironically, may be why I wish I could just have the characters and story without the acrobatics.

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This is a brilliant review. I haven’t read the book, but the exploration of the appeal of cleverness over sentiment for the young is terrific. Here are some quotes I like, “[A]s I grow older, I have simply come to value cleverness less and sentiment more . . .. The old are thought to be less clever and more sentimental than the young, though it is the young who think so. I prefer to think that my growing preference for sentiment over cleverness is a symptom of increasing wisdom. Except that I am as distrustful of sentiment as I am of cleverness, so perhaps wisdom is something else altogether."

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