He might hate his subject, but it never disappointed or
disconcerted him.
In Bovary, accordingly, the methods of the art are thrown into clear
relief. The story stands obediently before the author, with all its
developments and illustrations, the characters defined, the small
incidents disposed in order. His sole thought is how to present the
story, how to tell it in a way that will give the effect he desires, how
to show the little collection of facts so that they may announce the
meaning he sees in them. I speak of his "telling" the story, but of
course he has no idea of doing that and no more; the art of fiction does
not begin until the novelist thinks of his story as a matter to be
_shown_, to be so exhibited that it will tell itself. To hand over to
the reader the facts of the story merely as so much information--this is
no more than to state the "argument" of the book, the groundwork upon
which the novelist proceeds to create. The book is not a row of facts,
it is a single image; the facts have no validity in themselves, they are
nothing until they have been used. It is not the simple art of
narrative, but the comprehensive art of fiction that I am considering;
and in fiction there can be no appeal to any authority outside the book
itself. Narrative--like the tales of Defoe, for example--must look
elsewhere for support; Defoe produced it by the assertion of the
historic truthfulness of his stories.
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