New Grub Street by George Gissing: Day 35
Chapter 35
“‘The first duty of a novelist is to tell a story’: the perpetual repetition of this phrase is a warning to all men who propose drawing from the life.”
In our time I have heard other phrases repeated by people with strong convictions. Sometimes I wonder if the reason that literature still lives on is not because of people’s strong convictions, but despite them…
“We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.”
The Tempest quote is rather an apt summary of all writers. It feels a rare emotional, perhaps even sentimental, touch from Gissing to quote it twice when two of the most stubborn writers die in the novel.
The end of the chapter turns lyrical. Even Gissing cannot help but soften the edge of the coldest despair when death approaches.
Join us on December 13 for a virtual discussion of New Grub Street with Yiyun Li.
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I am moved by Yiyun's wondering whether "the reason that literature still lives on is not because of people’s strong convictions, but despite them…" Indeed, for me the ineffable draw/power of literature is the way in which it opens new worlds/experiences/ideas that invite/compel you to wander around in the muck of your convictions, and emerge with less clarity, new questions, and increased empathy toward others. Case in point: these past 35 days; it has been a gift to share thoughts, questions, musings with all of you - those who bring life to literature, and in turn enrich quotidian moments of "real" life.
In Buddhism desire is the source of suffering. Biffen intuited that following his unrequited love at 23, and protected himself afterward by eliminating the desire - "... his loneliness only became intolerable when a beautiful woman had smiled upon him, and forced him to dream perpetually of that supreme joy of life which to him was forbidden."
The "fatal days" were those that gave him access to Amy - "... after that hour of intimate speech with Amy, he never again knew rest of mind or heart." The smallest things about her became unbearable - "... her voice was so cruel in its conventional warmth."
His intellectual pursuits became inadequate raison d'être. Finally, "night, which had been the worst season of his pain, had now grown friendly; it came as an anticipation of the sleep that is everlasting."
I'll add here that current terminology favors "completing a suicide" vs "committing suicide," to remove some of the stigma. Biffen deserves that.