I love the way of looking at a book’s author as only “an invisible point from which the books came …”
I never really thought of the novelists as a character themselves even thought it’s obvious.
The study group is great: hipster readings of half read novels. Bullshit, bullshit everywhere. Pure academics.
In Nostromo, Decoud is stuck on the island for only a week yet commits suicide out of loneliness. Oliver Twist spends most of the novel recovering from some ailment that anyone else would brush off without a thought.
Here Jane is described as emaciated after only a day without a meal. A day. It’s all beautifully written and heart wrenching, but it’s only a day.
The constitution of protagonists is questionable.