From Henry James’s “The Art of Fiction”:
…the only classification of the novel that I can understand is into that which has life that which has it not.
Catching the very nite and trick, the strange irregular rhythm of life, that is the attempt whose strenuous force keeps Fiction upon her feet.
It appears to me that no one can ever have made a seriously artistic attempt without becoming conscious of an immense artistic increase–a kind of revelation–of freedom.
No good novel will ever proceed from a superficial mind…