“Who would not sing for Lycidas?” asks Milton in his famous elegy. And who, indeed, would not sing for the Novel, which has once again been declared dead?
Epitaphs for the Novel
In Everlasting Memory of The Novel (1605 – 2014)
Wandering knight, Shipwreck survivor, Whale hunter, Homebody
The Novel (1719 – 2014)
Into the Great Omniscience
In Remembrance of The Novel (d. 2014)
Who after supplanting the Epic
Enduring that “damned mob of scribbling women”
And surviving Finnegans Wake
Finally succumbed to the Internet
The Novel (RIP)
“I couldn’t relate to you either.”
Here lies The Novel (1000 – 2014)
Multilingual polymath, Baggy monster, Repeat Booker Prize Winner
The Novel that is born of other narrative modes hath but a short time to live, and is full of misery. It cometh up and is cut down, like the tree from which it was made.
Cherished Memories of The Novel (d. 2014)
“The most spectacular implosion of any genre you’re likely to see this year.”
— Gary Shteyngart
May your next chapter be free of critics and unhappy families
May you haunt those readers who left you unfinished
May you at last have time to read the Russians
And catch up on House of Cards
The Novel (1455 – 2014)
“I had a great print run.”
“I weep for the Novel — he is dead!”
Loving son of Calliope, faithful husband of Clio, devoted father of the nouveau roman, stream of consciousness
and movie tie-ins
Here lies, within this narrow pit,
A novel, the last one ever writ.
Disturb not its pages free of crease,
Lest you come to read in peace.
Image via Grabstein/Flickr