While "How Fiction Works" does not claim to be an exhaustive survey of world fiction (it doesn’t confine itself to fiction written in English, or, for that matter, strictly to prose), this book engages with brio in an ongoing conversation about reading as well as writing fiction, and James Wood makes his contributions in an accessible format and a voice by turns authoritative and charmingly effusive. Wood argues that modern narrative begins with Flaubert, and this assertion frames his discussions of a wide range of works. His main topics of narration, detail, character, language, dialogue, and classification of fiction are broken into brief segments (and are printed in surprisingly large type). The structural looseness of Wood’s admittedly “little volume” is surely influenced by his focus on “only the books I actually own—the books at hand in my study.”

This personal preference may account for some notable omissions. Foremost, to me, is Wood’s neglect of the short form. He does make frequent reference to Chekhov and attends briefly to Katherine Mansfield's stories, but he overlooks some masters of short fiction, notably Eudora Welty, William Trevor, and Alice Munro (though Munro merits a passing mention). Wood’s helpful unpacking of E.M. Forster’s categorization of “round” and “flat” characters may have benefited from attention to the rules that short stories establish as distinct from novels.

Similarly, while Wood ventures into the terrain of contemporary fiction—and he gives a most satisfying critique of a sloppy passage from Updike’s "Terrorist"—he is relatively tied to the canon and, despite his many nods to Virginia Woolf, to male writers. Also in terms of scope, Wood turns, briefly and rather reluctantly, to the Pandora’s box of genre fiction in the final chapter “Truth, Convention, Realism,” principally to deride genres as “commercial realism” and, as such, an extension of commercial cinema. While I’m not a fan of either, it is difficult to accept as more than merely dismissive his claim that the “efficiency” of genres “takes what it needs from the much less efficient Flaubert or Isherwood, and throws away what made those writers truly alive.” Surely a more nuanced inquiry into form and genre is merited (Wood having in the same section also introduced a comparison with formalist poetry in a similarly offhand manner), and I wonder what Wood makes of writers such as Michael Chabon who explicitly play with expectations established by genre. In this way, the book ends on heavy footing, enmeshed in theory and rebutting “complaints against realism." Realism--harking back to Flaubert--has been the underpinning of this book, but addressing this theoretical framework earlier may have grounded more of Wood's arguments throughout.

These charges actually speak to a strength of this book: Wood invites conversation. His meander through his bookshelves enacts a love for the particularities of writing with which the reader can’t help but identify. You will find here no iron-clad linguistic or stylistic rules, but an astute analysis of how each choice suits a particular purpose—how the authorial voice clings to that of a character, then distances itself, to simultaneously encourage and withhold sympathy; how varying time signatures achieve a modern cinematic effect; how passive voice, far from an unconscious defect, reinforces the “comically gentle” nature of a character. Bearing out the title’s promise, Wood is at his best when engaged in close reading that demonstrates precisely how a particular passage works in a particular way.

Even Wood’s footnoted digressions (e.g., on self-plagiarism and allegorical names), which at times can verge on self-important literary travelogues, sustain interest; some are fascinating insights, such as (for the non-French speaker) his speculation that the French obsession with narrative and realism derives from the preterite, a past tense in French used, never in speech, but solely in writing.

Wood analyzes with remarkable clarity. I borrowed this lively book from the library, but find myself wishing I owned it, to leave open the possibility of dipping into a few pages again while browsing through my own bookshelves. ( )

Sparkling. I can't say I am going to retain many of the lessons, but the writing is very fine, and Wood allows you to sample dozens of great passages, and then explains exactly what's so great about them. It feels like taking a submarine ride and seeing just how deep the ocean is, even if there's no practical way for me to ever get there by myself.

Does the typography on the dust cover mean something special? On the hardcover edition, the word works is in italics (although it's not specially designated on the title page or on the cover of the paperback edition, for that matter.) Is there a reason? At first, I thought this signified either (or both) of one or two things: (1) what are the intricate mechanisms that power a piece of fiction, the cogs, bolts, drive shafts, etc. and how do these components come together to get that piece of fiction whizzing along, or (2) how much, and what kind of, sheer effort goes into the production of fiction, the sweat, the tears, the agony, et cetera. Woods does spend quite a bit of time on the former (although not in any part icular systematic or, dreadful word, theoretical way) with just a few glances at the latter. What his preface, though, seems to say is that how can the reading (or writing, I suppose) of fiction "work" for us in making us a better person? Not necssarilfy a nicer person, but a more perceptive, thoughtful, imaginative person. If this is the case, his style and his strategy are perfectly adequate. Normally, when reading Wood's reviews in the New Yorker, I feel like someone slogging through a studen't exercise in translating something from Serbian into English. This book is much, much better than that. Not to beat around the bush any longer, I liked it pretty well. ( )

I have mixed feelings about this one. It was worth my time since it gave me quite a few authors to look up and reminded me why I love some of my favorites, but there were also so many allusions to books that I sometimes felt left out of the Wood's arguments. At the same time, there was plenty of material to get me thinking about writing strategies that made the read worthwhile; my only complaint would be that sometimes his thoughts seemed painfully obvious, while at others they seemed somewhat undeveloped. It is extremely readable, though, and broken into small sections that make the book more easily digestable, along with making it a simple task to find chapter-bites or sound-bites on certain materials that you might want to take into a class or group discussion.

I'd recommend this to folks who are interested in writing fiction or expanding their literary horizons, as well as folks who are fans of the classics and literary fiction (as opposed to more acceptably mainstream). I also think it's more paletable in small doses and taken as breaks instead of in long sittings; I kept it on my desk at work for those ten or fifteen minute stretches when there's no sense in starting a large task, but no sense either in just sitting still for the duration; Wood's short short chapters make the book ideal for that sort of reading. ( )

Sometimes I prefer to let the hype die away before I open a book. When How Fiction Works was released last summer, I saw more than a few snide references to this being the book all writers and wannabees would be reading. Though I don't always have the same take as Wood on books, I think his insights are invaluable and a necessary part of the discourse about fiction. Sadly, How Fiction Works feels all but forgotten now that winter has arrived. That makes me even happier that I saved it for my last book of 2008. It truly is a gem that I will put on the shelf next to Forster's Aspects of the Novel and Flannery O'Connor's Mystery and Manners and to which I will return whenever I'm "stuck" on a review, or on a tricky piece of editing of my own fiction. Though deceptively easy to read, his ideas provide quite a feast for the mind. Wood's discourses on narrating, detail, and most especially character were quite delicious. I've had great difficulty in the concept of flat and round characters since my MFA days and this concept kept coming up as a benchmark for deciding whether a piece of fiction worked or not. I, like Wood, have been bothered by Forster's slotting of characters into flat or round cubbies. Every time I've tried to pigeonhole a character in that way, they've escaped. Here's an excerpt from Wood. Reading it made me feel as though I've been invited in from the cold. Now, if only I could go back to one of those workshops armed with Wood and show those flat-rounders a thing or too.

"The novel is the great virtuoso of exceptionalism: it always wriggles out of the rules thrown around it. And the novelistic character is the very Houdini of that exceptionalism. There is no such thing as 'a novelistic character.' There are just thousands of different kinds of people, some round, some flat, some deep, some caricatures, some realistically evoked, some brushed in with the lightest of strokes. ... there are scores of fictional characters who are not fully or conventionally evoked who are also alive and vivid." ( )

This book was very interesting, and I've surely learnt a lot about reading fiction. There were some challenges reading it in English because of a rather difficult and spesial language to a Norwegian. Therefore I had some breaks on the way, but I'm glad I finished it. I think the most interesting chapters are:
Narrating, Character, Language, and Dialogue.
I recommend this book for all fiction readers, and it suits people who are interested in classics as well as those who love modern fiction. ( )

Okay, I'm trying not to be too English-gradstudenty about this, and mostly I'm really happy about Wood's eccentric, impressionistic approach, in the old pre-theoretical turn, Woolfian or Forsterian tradition. He even puts the boot into Barthes in a gentle fashion, which is cute.

In general, there's a lot to like in this Wood's exploration of how some parts of fiction work that he obviously likes thinking about - free indirect speech, which he describes in a wonderfully clear ad useful way; the tension in realism between mere verisimilitude and the higher truth he calls "lifeness"; collecting the names of authors that are also the names of characters in works by other authors; an amazing untelegraphed Graham Greene parody. But if this sounds like a grab bag, it really is, and this book suffers - I'm NOT gonna say for lack of theory - but for not being anything more than an amiable, occasionally effete, meander. ( )

I have just finished How Fiction Works and it now has pride of place among the several books I have owned and explored on the subject. In short, it is excellent.

Wood has a keen eye for the written word and an easy, readable style for explaining what is on the printed page and how it functions to enhance the readers appreciation and enjoyment of his reading. It seems to me that it is written from a readerly point of view, even though he claims that it is for writers as well as readers. The fous however is how the reader sees the narrative and is affected by it. He begins the book with a clear explanation of the syntax of 'free indirect discourse' that was all new to me, and he shows clear examples of its use and purposes in advancing the narrative of the story.

With that technical background out of the way, and at the ready for future and frequent use, he embarks on the more usual topics for explaining writing: the origins of modern narrative style; detail; character; consciousness; sympathy and complexity; language and dialogue; and finallly, truth and reality.

Wood acknowledges that "E. M. Forsters Aspects of The Novel, published in 1927, is canonical for good reason, but now seems imprecise" and one can see that Wood is out to have his own turn at improving that imprecision, while covering similar topics. His keen gaze is fixed on what he calls the old questions: "Is realism real? How do we define a successful metaphor? What is a character? When do we recognize a brilliant use of detail in fiction? What is a point of view and how does it work? What is imaginative sympathy? Why does fiction move us?"

He expresses the hope that "this book might be one that asks theoretical questions, but answers them practically." To my mind, he succeeds admirably with his sharp instead of diffuse answers to these pointed questions. His ultimate aim throughout is "to talk about the real" because the realism he sees as the objective of writing is ultimately what underlies other genres and "allows magical realism, hysterical realism, fantasy, science fiction, and even thrillers to exit."

To all questions he considers, he brings a clear eye and freshness of expression to make his points clear. A metaphor is an 'outburst of fiction' in the midst of fiction; an object is vividly described, not by achieving verisimilitude, but by expressing its 'thisness'; just as reality is achieved, again not by replica likeness, but by expressing its 'lifeness.' And finally what differentiates character is not roundness versus flatness, as in Forster's well-known terms, but subtlety -- Wood's term.

Reading this book is an exhilirating experience that brings the written page to a reader's attention in a different way than I have seen before. Moreover, one can carry its clearly explained insights over to one's own reading. In reading How Fiction Works, one will have learned from it and enahnced one's own future enjoyments, and I can think of no better recommendation. By all means, read the book! ( )

Top shelf, next to Forester, Gardner, Wetly ( )

Whatever. ( )

Wood believes the history of the novel has been a progression towards a particular goal. Indeed, he says: “The history of the novel can be told as the development of free indirect style.” I’m no expert in literary theory but that strikes me as a subjective view and one of the frustrations of this book is that Wood frequently makes assertions without acknowledging that there may be a dissenting school of thought.
Full review: http://www.26books.com/?p=250

This fascinating little volume will require many reads to absorb all the information contained in the 123 short essays on various aspects of writing fiction. At first, I had considered this as a text for my creative writing class, but now, I think not. I asked how many had read Madame Bovary, and none had. They need to read more – much, much more – before tackling this valuable book.

Wood presumes his reader has read world literature widely. He provides an extensive bibliography listed by date of publication. The 98 selections are eclectic and fascinating. He begins with Cervantes and the King James Bible then runs all the way through to Updike’s last novel, Terrorist. Pynchon, Saramago, Joyce, Kafka, Austen, the Brontës, Stendahl, Bellow, Nabokov, Roth (Joseph and Philip), Chekhov, Henry Green, and many, many others of my favorites. Alas, no Patrick White.

I started underlining the best passages, but I found nearly every essay had a memorable line or two. This example discusses Madame Bovary:

#29
“Novelists should thank Flaubert the way poets thank spring: it all begins again with him. There really is a time before Flaubert and a time after him. Flaubert decisively established what most readers and writers think of as modernist narration, and his is almost too familiar to be visible. We hardly remark of good prose that it favors the telling and brilliant detail; that it privileges a high degree of visual noticing; that it maintains an unsentimental composure and knows how to withdraw, like a good valet, from superfluous commentary; that it judges good and bad neutrally; that it seeks out truth, even at the cost of repelling us; and that the author’s fingerprints on all this are, paradoxically, traceable but not visible. You can find some of this in Defoe or Austen or Balzac, but not all of it until Flaubert.” (39)

I think I will add this to my desert island shelf for the future and my nightstand for occasional browsing before bed. It IS that kind of book. 5 stars

--Jim, 4/22/09 ( )