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voracious reader with a certain verbal attitude

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But the fellow talked like a cheap novelist.—Or like a very good novelist for the matter of that, if it’s the business of a novelist to make you see things clearly.

Oh, the irony. This seemingly perfect sentence on page 89—primed and ready to be typeset over the image of a vague sky and pinned to the boards and blogs of every aspring writer, then reblogged endlessly—nestled in the middle of a purposefully confusing novel, spoken by the godfather of unreliable narrators. The Good Soldier by Ford Madox Ford: for when you want to feel like a writer is laughing at you from the grave.

But the fellow talked like a cheap novelist.—Or like a very good novelist for the matter of that, if it’s the business of a novelist to make you see things clearly.

Oh, the irony. This seemingly perfect sentence on page 89—primed and ready to be typeset over the image of a vague sky and pinned to the boards and blogs of every aspring writer, then reblogged endlessly—nestled in the middle of a purposefully confusing novel, spoken by the godfather of unreliable narrators. The Good Soldier by Ford Madox Ford: for when you want to feel like a writer is laughing at you from the grave.

Filed under books the good soldier ford madox ford writing

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