![]() ![]() First, it is completely unable to deal with a wide range of the writing that the latter part of the century has developed. ![]() If it is possible to understand this as an ethic, and indeed I think that it is an ethic to which I would subscribe, it is simply and baldly insufficient as an aesthetic, and this for two different reasons. Later that semester, though, I discovered that the Joyce course’s professor, Colin MacCabe, referred in a powerful essay to none other than Lessing herself in his retrospective judgment that the modernist dismissals of literary realism or mimesis in all its variants, from naturalism to science fiction, is aesthetically and politically limited: At the time enrolled in a course on James Joyce, in the middle of Ulysses, I was in no mood for the stark, slow realism of the novel’s opening. I recall drunkenly reading the first twenty pages of that paperback in the middle of the night in my dorm room and being struck by what I then regarded as its artlessness. ![]() ![]() I bought an old mass market paperback copy of The Golden Notebook during my freshman year of college from the now-defunct bookseller in front of the William Pitt Union. When I heard that Doris Lessing died, I immediately resolved to read one of her books, since I felt as if I’d been missing my rendezvous with her work for years. ![]()
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