Vanity Fair update

It's Sunday, and I havn't read any of Vanity Fair today. I've come to the first real interval (at page 317 or thereabouts) where I have to press on against reasons and justifications to not press on because I feel I've got most of what Thackeray has to offer, yet I have almost 600 pages to go. So that means I have to make twice the effort this evening to read the same amount of pages half the effort would have taken just a few days ago. (Thackeray says in his subtitle that this is a 'novel without a hero', and he was honest about that, so what is happening is he is describing some very common human types - in extreme caracature - and not giving his readers any one character to root for or identify with.)

Yet, it's not wasting my time. Even if the effort to read it all (which I will) sharpens my discernment (once again) for novels and choosing novels to read it will have been a profitable effort.

Novels hold a unique place among B Influence that is delivered by means of the word. An inspired novelist can create a real world. A complete cosmos. Whatever it is. People often say they don't read fiction because it's 'not real' or it seems to them to be a waste of time on imaginary stuff (as opposed to histories and non-fiction), yet in great novels there most definitely is reality, and in fact it's often the case that the only kind of influence you can find some kinds of knowledge of reality is in the great novels.

I've been out of that level of influence for quite a few years now, but if one is to go back and get a refresher I can't think of a better influence than one of the big great novels. Vanity Fair may turn out to be a notch below great, yet, as I said, it's not wasting my time...