Reviewed by: A History of The Modernist Novel ed. by Gregory Castle Ellen Scheible (bio) A HISTORY OF THE MODERNIST NOVEL, edited by Gregory Castle. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2015. xiv + 532 pp. $115.00. Like any good post-theory attempt to historicize as idiosyncratic a period as modernism or, worse, the genre of the modernist novel, Gregory Castle's shrewdly organized collection, A History of the Modernist Novel, throws any definition we comfortably use for the genre out the window. In fact, the collection aims to dismantle our dependence on reliable categories like "genre," "fiction," or, perhaps even more shockingly, the "novel." The crux of this urge to reorient common understandings of the modernist period and modernist texts lies in an undermining, time and again, of the classic binary that traps modernism in a timeless feud with its realist enemies. As one author in the collection, Leonid Livak, puts it, "[r]ealism, of course, was in the eye of the beholder" (117). No longer should we think of the fin de siècle novel as either modernist or realist, traditional or experimental, or a victim of any binary relationship. Instead, the modernist novel is the canvas for a modernism that is, in the words of Castle, "in motion, in transit across periods, canons, cultural traditions, and geographical borders and spaces" (23). In Part I, "Modernism and the Challenge to the Real," authors spend time crafting meticulous close-readings of a few under-recognized texts that are grouped into categories like the "aesthetic novel" or "impressionism" and are often positioned opposite modernism. Time and again, the verdict is the same: modernism is never truly divorced from the stylistic approaches it chooses to challenge, reject, or dismantle. Instead, these tense categories expose the kind of duplicitous modernist history Castle wants to emphasize: one where time periods, geography, and content are inconsistent but equally successful representations of experimental fiction. This especially rings true for non-British fiction, like French and Russian novels that maintain combative relationships with the modernist genre. Strikingly, the essays in this section expose the deeply passionate feelings of their authors. Jean-Michel Rabaté's piece, "Modernism and the French Novel: A Genealogy (1888-1913)," is a highly evocative argument lauding Marcel Proust's canonical superiority (second only to Joyce for Rabaté, it seems). Moreover, Livak's "Russian Modernism and the Novel" reads like a plea for our understanding of the differences [End Page 238] between western assumptions of modernism and Russian skepticism about such practices. Modernism is not always what we think it is, and sometimes the most modern of texts renders suspect the category that defines it. The next section of the edition, Part II—"Realism in Transition"—contextualizes modernism and certain modernist writers within a persuasive spectrum of crosscurrents where modernism and Edwardian fiction or modernism and domesticity emerge as overlapping categories rather than separate genres. The last two essays in this part shine as significant arguments for reorienting the modernist frame within a larger discourse of an ever-evolving realism. Especially for American modernists, particularly African-American writers like Nella Larson, the inclusion of realism as a chosen style within modernist discourse must be acknowledged as a strategy—one that forces readers to consider who is writing experimental fiction and who is not. That said, the first essay in this section, "Bootmakers and Watchmakers: Wells, Bennett, Galsworthy, Woolf, and Modernist Fiction" by David Bradshaw is markedly defensive of the conventional and dramatically suspicious of Virginia Woolf's critical views of realism. One might question why the author of the essay needed to castigate Woolf so disparagingly to prove the importance of Edwardian fiction. While we certainly might be persuaded more clearly to recognize the genius of a writer like H. G. Wells, we are not prepared to read Woolf's canon, especially her more experimental fiction like The Waves, as indebted to her Edwardian predecessors for its success.1 More importantly, we are not willing to see her personal struggles with mental illness as side effects of her critical engagement with realism. It is persuasive to consider modernism and realism as codependent literary categories, but we run the risk of undermining the radical influence...
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