Beauty in art: the suddenly kindled light of the never-before said. This light that radiates from the great novels time can never dim, for human existence is perpetually being forgotten by man, and thus the novelist's discoveries, however old they may be, will never cease to astonish us.
"It takes so little, so infinitely little for a person to cross the border beyond which everything loses meaning: love, convictions, faith history. Human life –and herein lies its secret – takes place in the immediate proximity of that border, even in direct contact with it... (The Book of Laughter and Forgetting)
A novel is often, it seems to me, nothing but a long quest for some elusive definitions.
"The struggle of man agains power is the struggle of memory against forgetting". The will to forget is an anthropological one: man has always harbored the desire to rewrite his own biography, to change the past, to wipe out tracks, bot his own and others.
The novel is, by definition, the ironic art, it "truth" is concealed undeclared, undeclarable. It denies us our certainties by unmasking the world an ambiguity.
Novel: The great prose form in which an author thoroughly explores, by means of experimental selves (characters), some great themes of existence.
It pleases me to think that the art of the novel came into the world as the echo of God's laughter.