#Metafiction
Quotes about metafiction
Metafiction is a fascinating literary device that blurs the line between fiction and reality, inviting readers to explore the very nature of storytelling itself. This genre of writing is characterized by its self-referential nature, where the text often acknowledges its own fictional status. By doing so, metafiction challenges traditional narrative structures and encourages readers to question the boundaries between the author, the story, and the audience. People are drawn to quotes about metafiction because they offer a glimpse into the playful and thought-provoking world of stories that are aware of their own artifice. These quotes often provoke reflection on the act of reading and writing, sparking curiosity about how narratives shape our understanding of reality. Metafiction invites us to engage with literature on a deeper level, prompting us to consider the power of storytelling and the ways in which it influences our perceptions. Whether you're a seasoned reader or new to the concept, exploring quotes about metafiction can provide a unique perspective on the art of narrative and the endless possibilities it holds.
One morning, some weeks after her arrival at Lowick, Dorothea - but why always Dorothea? Was her point of view the only possible one with regard to this marriage?
I hear her slip into bed with him, and I hear everything that happens after that. Sex is such a strange and sloppy business, why bother to recount every slurp and moan that ensued? Tom and Honey deserve their privacy, and for that reason I will end my report of the night's activities here. If some readers object, I ask them to close their eyes and use their imaginations.
He decided to re-read his story from the beginning. As he read he felt as if he was falling forwards into the blank, white spaces of the screen, and the words faded from his consciousness to be replaced completely by the things that they described.
Suppose that which is taking place here and now is not reality, but only a tale, a tale of some higher order that contains within it the tale of the machine: a reader might well wonder why you and your companions are shaped like spheres, inasmuch as that sphericality serves no purpose in the narration and would appear to be a wholly superfluous embellishment...
Why do I covet metafiction so much? Why do I nurture a style that David Foster Wallace purportedly exploded in the late 1980s, that is derided by most literary theorists as passé, that people tend to agree serves no worldly, moral purpose other than to draw attention to the writer’s own navel? Because, dammit, metafiction is relevant to today.
How is your father?” she asks disinterestedly. “A contrivance,” I mutter. “A plot device.
The problem with thinking up a new and original idea within a novel is that you have to make sure that Kurt Vonnegut did not already think of it.
Conchpore is real. It is as real as Malgudi, Brahmpur, Lilliput or Macondo. And also as real as San Francisco, Madurai, Edinburgh, Gaborone or Tokyo. You know that fictional towns exist. You visit them all the time.
After you told me the part about Las Vegas, you know how I said it was the stupidest story I had ever heard?”“You didn’t say that.”“Well, I was thinkin’ it. But I’ve decided I owe that Las Vegas story an apology because this last thing made that one look like The Grapes of Wrath.