Garry Gillard > writing > lectures > 229 > 03
H229 Narrative Fiction 1
Lecture 3 1995
[overhead]
Henry Fielding, 1707-1754, Tom Jones, 1749, set centrally in 1745, the year of the second Jacobite Rebellion. Fielding also wrote Joseph Andrews, 1742, Amelia, 1751, Journal of a Voyage to Lisbon, 1755, published posthumously.
In many of these lectures I'll be attempting to read the relevant primary text for the week in the context of one or more of the recommended secondary texts or readings.
This lecture will make use of some ideas from Mikhail Bakhtin, Erich Auerbach, Ian Watt, R. S. Crane, Franz Stanzel, and Dorothy van Ghent—the first five of whom are listed in your secondary bibliography, and then, if I don't take too long on that, with some particular aspects of Tom Jones that I want to draw to your attention.
[overhead]
Mikhail Bakhtin and the novel genre
Erich Auerbach and Fielding's realism
Ian Watt and 'formal realism'
R. S. Crane and the plot of Tom Jones
Scholes & Kellogg and novel plots
Franz Stanzel and narrative situation
Dorothy van Ghent and style
picaresque
'history' and 'romance'
language of the law and the courts
the stage
structure: plot and pursuit
I must begin with an answer to a question I was asked last week. I was giving an account of Bakhtin's essay on 'Forms of time and of the chronotope in the novel,' and I told you about the first two types of ancient 'novel,' and I was asked what was the third type. Well, it's very convenient to answer that question now, because the third type is one which we might be able to see as a precursor to the novel that we are considering today: The History of Tom Jones: A Foundling. Bakhtin's third type of ancient 'novel' is the 'biographical novel.' He is careful to point out, of course, that 'antiquity did not produce the kind of novel that we (in our terminology) would call a "novel," that is, a large fiction influenced by biographical models. Nevertheless [he writes] a series of autobiographical and biographical forms was worked out in ancient times that had a profound influence not only on the development of European biography, but also on the development of the European novel as a whole. At the heart of these ancient forms lies a new type of biographical time and a human image constructed to new specifications, that of an individual who passes through the course of a whole life.' [1] And here we are today with the 'history' of just such an individual who passes through well, most of the course of his whole life—all the important part, up until when he gets the girl.
One of the convenient things about reading Tom Jones—and especially early in a course on narrative fiction—is that the text comments on itself. The authorial voice—which for most of the time it is convenient to name as 'Henry Fielding'—not only tells the story from an omniscient point of view, but also reads a series of short lectures, or essays, or epistles, if you prefer—and usually, as you know, in the first chapter of each book of the novel. As Bakhtin writes:
Especially significant … is a series of statements that accompanied the emergence of a new novel-type in the eighteenth century. The series opens with Fielding's reflections on the novel and its hero in Tom Jones. 2
In perhaps the most important of these 'reflections on the novel'—or, as Fielding himself calls them, 'prolegomenous or introductory chapter[s]' [3] —for example, the one at the beginning of Book 5, Fielding writes this.
Peradventure there may be no parts in this prodigious work which will give the reader less pleasure in the perusing, than those which have given the author the greatest pains in composing. Among these probably may be reckoned those initial essays which we have prefixed to the historical matter contained in every book; and which we have determined to be essentially necessary to this kind of writing, of which we have set ourselves at the head. 4
Bakhtin, again, tells us that
overhead
… the following prerequisites for the novel are characteristic: (1) the novel should not be "poetic," as the word poetic" is used in other genres of imaginative literature; (2) the hero of a novel should not be "heroic" in either the epic or the tragic sense of the word: he should combine in himself negative as well as positive features, low as well as lofty, ridiculous as well as serious; (3) the hero should not be portrayed as an already completed and unchanging person but as one who is evolving and developing, a person who learns from life; (4) the novel should become for the contemporary world what the epic was for the ancient world … 5
With regard to the first of these prerequisites: that 'the novel should not be "poetic",' Fielding himself plays with the notion of the poetic, in his essay at the beginning of the fourth book, where he suggests
That our work, therefore, might be in no danger of being likened to the labours of these historians, we have taken every occasion of interspersing through the whole sundry similes, descriptions, and other kind of poetical embellishments. 6
This, however, is to some extent for the purpose of being ironic; and when Fielding takes up the question of plausibility more seriously, in the longest of his essay chapters, at the beginning of Book 8, he first asserts the need for plausibility.
First, then, [he writes] I think it may very reasonably be required of every writer, that he keeps within the bounds of possibility; and still remembers that what it is not possible for man to perform, it is scarce possible for man to believe he did perform. 7
He soon, however, adds a second requirement, and in so doing, draws the distinction between the poet (Homer, for example) and the historian (himself).
Nor is possibility alone sufficient to justify us; we must keep likewise within the rules of probability. It is, I think, the opinion of Aristotle; or if not, it is the opinion of some wise man, whose authority will be as weighty when it is as old, "That it is no excuse for a poet who relates what is incredible, that the thing related is really matter of fact." This may perhaps be allowed true with regard to poetry, but it may be thought impracticable to extend it to the historian; for he is obliged to record matters as he finds them, though they may be of so extraordinary a nature as will require no small degree of historical faith to swallow them. 8
But he first proclaims the 'proper study' of the historian, as if recalling the well-known lines of Pope from the Essay on Man, published only sixteen years previously:
Know then thyself, presume not God to scan;
The proper study of Mankind is Man. 9
Fielding's prosaic version goes like this.
Man therefore is the highest subject (unless on very extraordinary occasions indeed) which presents itself to the pen of our historian, or of our poet; and, in relating his actions, great care is to be taken that we do not exceed the capacity of the agent we describe. 10
Which will take us back to the second of Bakhtin's descriptors concerning the novel and its hero, that he 'should not be "heroic" in either the epic of the tragic sense of the word: he should combine in himself negative as well as positive features, low as well as lofty, ridiculous as well as serious.'
So Fielding, introducing Tom Jones, writes:
As we determined, when we first sat down to write this history, to flatter no man, but to guide our pen throughout by the directions of truth, we are obliged to bring our heroe on the stage in a much more disadvantageous manner than we could wish; and to declare honestly, even at his first appearance, that it was the universal opinion of all Mr. Allworthy's family that he was certainly born to be hanged. 11
ironically stressing the worse features of 'Tom Jones, who, bad as he is, must serve for the heroe of this history …' [12] You will also notice, however, how often he also mentions his better and heroic features.
I conclude my references to Bakhtin with this last and more 'theoretical' quotation.
overhead
I find three basic characteristics [he writes] that fundamentally distinguish the novel in principle from other genres: (1) its stylistic three-dimensionality, which is linked with the multi-languaged consciousness realized in the novel; (2) the radical change it effects in the temporal coordinates of the literary image; (3) the new zone opened by the novel for structuring literary images, namely, the zone of maximal contact with the present (with contemporary reality) in all its openendedness. 13
With regard to the first of these—the novel's 'stylistic three-dimensionality' and its 'multi-languaged consciousness '—Bakhtin is referring to the new capability of the novel to develop what he calls 'heteroglossia,' the ability to speak in many voices, as opposed to the 'monoglossia' (the 'single voice') of earlier forms—such as the epic, which could only utilise the single voice approved by the dominant culture.
The second and third of Bakhtin's characteristics, the 'radical change the novel effects in the temporal coordinates' and 'the zone of maximal contact with the present' both refer to the novel's ability to deal with the present of its authors and readers—its senders and receivers, if you prefer a communications model—in contrast with the epic, which could not deal with reality as contemporary, but only with the distant past or with mythic time.
I turn now to Erich Auerbach and his concern with what is also the most central thematic interest of this course: the concern with realism. In the eighteenth chapter of his amazing book, Mimesis: the Representation of Reality in Western Literature, Auerbach discusses mainly Stendhal's Le rouge et le noir (1830); and Balzac's Le vieux Goriot (1834), but he refers also to Fielding, in these terms.
The real everyday life of even the middle ranks of society belong to the low style [he writes]; the profound and significant Henry Fielding, who touches upon so many moral, aesthetic, and social problems, keeps his presentation always within the satiric moralistic key and says in Tom Jones (14.1): "that kind of novels which, like this I am writing, is of the comic class."
He writes that Fielding in his great novel deals with
The serious treatment of everyday reality, the rise of more extensive and socially inferior human groups to the position of subject matter for problematic-existential representation, on the one hand; on the other, the embedding of random persons and events in the general course of contemporary history, the fluid historical background—these, we believe, are the foundations of modern realism …' 14
So we find in Fielding's novel many characters who would not be represented in the Iliad for example: Deborah Wilkins (aged 51, woman-servant to Squire Allworthy), Mrs Anne Partridge (who was Squire Allworthy's cook), Black George Seagrim (the gamekeeper), Goody Brown, Mr Supple—all of whom have their part to play in advancing the plot and the career of Tom Jones—as he advances towards the gallows—but who are also there because they are members of 'more extensive and socially inferior human groups' … 'random persons and events' who represent the 'general course of contemporary history.'
But they are not there merely for what we would now call sociological reasons. As Auerbach points out,
Fielding's art ([in] Tom Jones appear[ing] in 1749) already shows a far more energetic contemporary realism of life in all its departments than do the French novels of the same period; even the fluidity of the contemporary historical background is not entirely lacking; but the whole is conceived more moralistically and sheers away from any problematic and existential seriousness 15
Drawing attention to a tension in what I might call the 'ideology' of the novel in the eighteenth century between what I've referred to as a 'sociological' interest on the one hand and a 'moralistic' intention on the other, Auerbach draws a contrast between Fielding and Dickens, in 'whose work [which] began to appear in the thirties of the nineteenth century, there is, despite the strong social feelings and suggestive density of his milieux, almost no trace of the fluidity of the political and historical background.'
When we get to 'Thackeray [continues Auerbach], who places the events of Vanity Fair (1847-8) most concretely in contemporary history (the years before and after Waterloo), [he] on the whole preserves the moralistic, half-satirical, half-sentimental viewpoint very much as it was handed down by the eighteenth century.' 16
What Auerbach is emphasising in Fielding, in contrast to both his French contemporaries and to Dickens and Thackeray, is that although he was as interested as they were in pointing a moral, he also conveys a stronger sense of a 'more energetic contemporary realism of life in all its departments' than all the others.
Ian Watt attempts to provide what I might call a 'behaviouristic' explanatory model—or perhaps 'textual' might be a more diplomatic descriptor—for the way in which Fielding constructs this 'energetic contemporary realism' in his book, The Rise of the Novel (1957). You have the first chapter of this book in your Reader. (It's called the 'second' chapter in the Murdoch printed excerpt because that is taken from the short-lived Peregrine edition of the book.) 17
I think you will find Ian Watt's book useful. He gives an account of what he calls 'formal realism,' which he sees as the fundamental characteristic of the new kind of novel being produced in eighteenth century England by Richardson, Defoe, and Fielding. He sums the concept up in this way.
Formal realism, in fact, is the narrative embodiment of a premise that Defoe and Richardson accepted very literally, but which is implicit in the novel form in general: the premise, or primary convention, that the novel is a full and authentic report of human experience, and is therefore under an obligation to satisfy its readers with such details of the story as the individuality of the actors concerned, the particulars of the times and places of their actions, details which are presented through a more largely referential use of language than is common in other literary forms. 18
Reading Tom Jones in the light of this concept you will notice that Fielding exemplifies this tendency only in part. Some of this characters have type-names, for example: Allworthy, Thwackum, etc., while others, notably Tom himself, are meant to indicate people who might really have existed in 'history.' You will also notice that while he is sometimes at pains to indicate that characters are acting realistically, despite coincidences, malice, etc., he also deals with other characters in a typifying way, for the purposes of satire: Squire Western is the character who springs to my mind, in his predictably vulgar brutality. Blifil is another who conforms rather to the type, in his case that of the hypocrite.
You will also note that although Fielding gives detailed accounts of some aspects of the time and space of his novel (apparently he used an almanac to get the phases of the moon right for the year in which the novel was set) he does not evoke settings in the same way as some other writers. We'll be able to compare, for example, Tom's prison with Caleb Williams's, and Fielding's London with Charles Dickens's in Oliver Twist.
Ian Watt not only give us his valuable introductory chapter on realism generally, he also writes a chapter specifically on Tom Jones, which should repay the trouble you might take to get hold of it.
If you cannot, however, here at least are one or two sentences from the chapter called 'Fielding as novelist.' First of all he runs Tom Jones down a bit, as reviewers tend to do, before getting to the praise.
All this, of course, is not to say [he writes] that Fielding does not succeed: Tom Jones is surely entitled to the praise of an anonymous early admirer who called it "on the whole … the most lively book ever published." But it is a very personal and unrepeatable kind of success: Fielding's technique was too eclectic to become a permanent element in the tradition of the novel—Tom Jones is only part novel, and there is much else—picaresque tale, comic drama, occasional essay. 19
You can see why I want to pick up on this particular quotation from Ian Watt: it is because of the specific reference to the picaresque. This is something we should take up in tutorials, so I won't discuss this any further at the moment. Instead I'll move on to my next theoretician, R. S. Crane.
His paper on the plot and the plot of Tom Jones has been reprinted in three out of the four anthologies in your secondary bibliography, so it has been considered by at least three prestigious editors as being of value. The main thing Crane does in the first part of the paper is distinguish three kinds of plot: plots of action, of character, and of thought. The main point he is making is that whereas in the past—in Aristotle, for example—action was thought of as being the main determining characteristic of a plot—despite this, there are other bases on which to construct a plot. He does not say that a plot of action does not display the other aspects: character and thought, but merely that it stresses the first of these. But let me read you some of what he writes.
I shall assume that any novel or drama not constructed on didactic principles is a composite of three elements, which unite to determine its quality and effect—the things that are imitated (or "rendered") in it, the linguistic medium in which they are imitated, and the manner or technique of imitation; and I shall assume further that the things imitated necessarily involve human beings interacting with one another in ways determined by, and in turn affecting, their moral characters and their states of mind (ie., their reasonings, emotions, and attitudes). If this is granted, we may say that the plot of any novel or drama is the particular temporal synthesis effected by the writer of the elements of action, character, and thought that constitute the matter of his invention. It is impossible, therefore, to state adequately what an plot is unless we include in our formula all three of the elements or causes of which the plot is the synthesis; and it follows also that plots will differ in structure according as one or another of the three causal ingredients is employed as the synthesizing principle. There are, thus, plots of action, plots of character, and plots of thought. In the first, the synthesizing principle is a completed change, gradual or sudden, in the situation of the protagonist, determined and effected by character and thought (as in Œdipus and The Brothers Karamazov); in the second, the principle is a completed process of change in the moral character of the protagonist, precipitated or molded by action, and made manifest both in it and in thought and feeling (as in James's The Portrait of a Lady); in the third, the principle is a completed process of change in the thought of the protagonist and consequently in his feelings, conditioned and directed by character and action (as in Pater's Marius the Epicurean). All these types of construction, and not merely the first, are plots in the meaning of our definition; and it is mainly, perhaps, because most of the familiar classic plots, including that of Tom Jones, have been of the first kind that so many critics have tended to reduce plot to action alone. 1961: 238-239. 1967: 141-142. [20]
Crane's analysis has been found to be useful, not only for broadening the scope of the notion of plot, but also to offer the concept as a basis for making judgements about the effectiveness of a narrative work. We might, for example, be impressed by the ability of the work's representational power, its 'realism,' or by its 'general powers of language,' or by the 'various conditions of suspense and surprise.' We might also, he suggests, as indeed I believe we would want to do in the case of the author of Tom Jones, make judgements to do with the 'greatness' of its author, or his 'seriousness' or his 'maturity.'
'Such criticism of parts in the light of general principles [he writes] is indispensable, but it is no substitute for—and its conclusions, affirmative as well as negative, have constantly to be checked by—the more specific kind of criticism of a work that takes the form of the plot as its starting point and then inquires how far and in what way its peculiar power is maximized by the writer's invention and development of episodes, his step-by-step rendering of the characters of his people, his use and elaboration of thought, his handling of diction and imagery, and his decisions as to the order, method, scale, and point of view of his representation. 1967: 145. [20]
Scholes and Kellogg, in the chapter from their book The Nature of Narrative which is reprinted in your Reader (Chapter 6: 'Plot in narrative,') suggest that 'The novel, a form dominated by the mimetic impulse, has always borrowed its plot materials from other forms.' They see Don Quixote, as 'the great progenitor of the form,' and argue that it 'is, in its plot, a compromise between the romantic quest pattern and the life-to-death pattern of historical biography.' They compare Cervantes' great novel to Lazarillo de Tormes, 'the lesser, earlier, but no less influential progenitor of the novel,' and point out that the earlier story 'exhibits in its picaresque form the elements of simple road or journey narrative and the chronological pattern of historical autobiography.' They argue that 'these two combinations (biography-quest and autobiography-journey) dominate the rise of the novel.' and they claim that 'Gil Blas and its imitators represent the autobiography-journey pattern [Gil Blas is a novel by Le Sage which continues the picaresque tradition]; Tom Jones and its successors, the biography-quest pattern.' 21
'But the novels we think of [they continue] as representative of the great period of realistic fiction on the European continent—The Red and the Black, Madame Bovary, Crime and Punishment, Anna Karenina, Fathers and Sons—generally reflect a careful adherence (deliberate or not) to the ancient tragic formula. These great realistic novels generate their power by the tension they exploit between their mimetic and mythic characteristics. The characters are highly individualized version of recognizable social types, and the patterns through which they move are woven out of the mythos of the tragic drama.' 22
Well, we might return to this notion of the mythos of tragedy later in the course; the point to make at the moment is that for Crane, and to a lesser extent for Scholes and Kellogg, plot is the potential basis of any further work in literary analysis, but for Franz Stanzel it is narrative situation— or 'point of view.'
Stanzel's is some of the most useful work I have read on 'point-of-view,' or 'narrative situation,' as it is called in the translation of his book Narrative Situations in the Novel. [23] Much of Stanzel's writing is tiresomely technical, and I'll attempt to summarise the whole book in a few words. The two most significant narrative situations identified and demonstrated by Stanzel are, firstly,
§ the authorial (and his example is Tom Jones), in which we have a strong sense of being told the story by an 'author' or 'implied author;' and, secondly,
§ the figural (his example is The Ambassadors, and Strether, the character through whose point of view we see the action of the novel). The figural is the situation in which we have a strong sense of the action (the story, the plot) being mediated through the perception of a 'character'—there is an 'illusion of being present in one of the figures.' A subset or special case of the figural narrative situation is what he calls 'neutral narration'—where there is the 'illusion of presence through point of observation not figural.' Stanzel suggests that 'the centre of orientation lies in the now-and-here of an imaginary observer on the scene whose place the reader assumes in his imagination.'
§ First-person narration (as in the Lazarillo) he sees as being a special case of the authorial situation, which is characterised more than anything else by a temporal gap—a gap in time—being the experiencing and narrating selves of the narrator. As I think we have seen last week, it is this gap in that is constructed some of the essential meaning of the work, in the sense that it is in the distance between the younger and older selves of the narrator that we see what he has learnt, how he has been changed, and therefore what it is that is being thematised by these means. As I shall try to show in second semester, the difference between these two selves of the narrator makes a crucial though very subtle difference to the meaning of the story of Heart of Darkness as a whole.
As with Crane's proposal of the use of plot as the ultimate critical tool, I find that with Stanzel's notion of narrative situation that when you come to apply it to actual novels, it is often the case that the narrative situation changes subtly, from sentence to sentence, and even within the sentence. However, we of course need a critical vocabulary, and I have found these terms, 'authorial,' 'first-person,' 'figural,' and 'neutral' useful up to a point, and I propose that you might also.
The last of the theorists and critics whom I want to wheel out for your inspection today is Dorothy van Ghent. [24] In most of her piece on Tom Jones she is ranging fairly broadly over a number of themes, and particularly the opposition of the natural and the artificial. She writes, for example, that
In Tom Jones, life is conceived specifically as a conflict between natural, instinctive feeling, and those appearances with which people disguise, deny, or inhibit feeling—intellectual theories, rigid moral dogmas, economic conveniences, doctrines of chic or of social "respectability." 68 [25]
But at the end of her chapter she gives us this enthusiast's view of Fielding's great novel, which I want to share with you, partly because it brings together a notion of Fielding's style in conjunction with both a notion of his plotting and his wisdom. This is what she writes. I'm only going to read two sentences. If you can listen at a meta-level, you might like to consider the idea that the first of these is itself an example of what she is describing: it is a metonym of its own substance, united in form and content.
We may think of Tom Jones [she writes] as a complex architectural figure, a Palladian palace perhaps: immensely variegated, as Fortune throws out its surprising encounters … elegant and suavely intelligent in its details (many of Fielding's sentences are little complex "plots" in themselves, where the reader must follow a suspended subject through a functional ornament of complications—qualifying dependent clauses and prepositional phrases and eloquent pauses—to the dramatic predication of denouement); but simply, spaciously, generously, firmly grounded in Nature, and domed with an ample magnitude where Fortune shows herself as beneficent artisan. The structure is all out in the light of intelligibility; air circulates around and over it and through it. 26
I draw to a close with a list of points for further discussion and consideration.
§ The picaresque. Some of the characteristics of the traditional picaresque may be found in the character of Tom Jones. He is a rogue, and an outcast, and in part of his career he travels around the country having a variety of adventures with a variety of people from different classes and occupations, enabling the novelist to satirise them to some extent. However, the narrative also has aspects of the so-called 'anti-picaresque:' it turns out that Tom is nobly born and so has never been a real pícaro. Furthermore, its effect is to be more historical than satirical.
§ Fielding seems to want to contrast his new kind of 'history' to existing 'romances,' mainly in that he is at pains to draw attention to what for him was 'realistic'—if it is not quite so for us readers in 1995. So he does what he can to create a sense of the individuality of his characters, and the reality of their motivations and ideologies. On the other hand he also wants to sell as many copies of the book as possible, and so also tries to make it an 'entertainment.'
§ I think it does make a difference to this novel that its author was a justice of the peace and a magistrate. Not only are there a number of occasions on which there are literally courtroom scenes, but the language of the law and the courts runs through the discourse of the whole novel. I think this may be seen as part of the desire for authenticity and truth which is one the wellsprings of the novel. Allworthy, of course, stands for the administration of justice as combined with wisdom and compassion.
§ Fielding's experience in writing for the stage is also discernibly contributive to the novel's success. The succession of scenes, the lively and brief delineation of character in association with appearance, the thematisation of masking and unmasking, and the comic juxtapositions and revelations in the plotting are all such stagy, or dramatic, or theatrical effects, and can be repeatedly exemplified.
§ Much has been written about the efficacy of the plot of Tom Jones (and I have of course referred to Crane's piece on this). The novel is carefully structured: it divides neatly into thirds (six books of country life, six books of life on the highways, six books concerned with life in London), with a clear centre (Books Nine and Ten, set in Upton). It is structured in other ways also, and the alternating and criss-crossing of pursuits in another example. At an ideological level, we might speculate on the appropriateness of considering pursuit as a central figure in a book from a period characterised by an energetically rising and burgeoning bourgeoisie, in pursuit of change and new opportunities.
1 Bakhtin, Mikhail M. 1981, 'Forms of time and of the chronotope in the novel,' The Dialogic Imagination: Four Essays, ed. Michael Holquist, trs. Caryl Emerson & Michael Holquist, University of Texas Press, Austin: 130.
2 Bakhtin, Mikhail M. 1981, 'Epic and novel,' in The Dialogic Imagination: Four Essays, ed. Michael Holquist, trs. Caryl Emerson & Michael Holquist, University of Texas Press, Austin: 9.
3 Henry Fielding 1985 [1749], Tom Jones, Penguin, Book 8: 361.
4 Henry Fielding 1985 [1749], Tom Jones, Penguin, Book 5: 199.
5 Bakhtin, Mikhail M. 1981, 'Epic and novel,': 10.
6 Fielding 1985 [1749], Book 4: 151.
7 Fielding 1985 [1749], Book 8: 361.
8 Fielding 1985 [1749], Book 8: 363.
9 Alexander Pope, Essay on Man [1733], Second Epistle: ll. 1-2.
10 Fielding 1985 [1749], Book 8: 363.
11 Fielding 1985 [1749], Book 3, Chapter 2: 123.
12 Fielding 1985 [1749], Book 3, Chapter 2: 123.
13 Bakhtin, Mikhail M. 1981, 'Epic and novel,': 11.
14 Auerbach, Erich 1953 [1946], Mimesis: the Representation of Reality in Western Literature, trs. Willard R. Trask, Princeton University Press, Princeton NJ: 481.
15 Auerbach 1953: 491.
16 Auerbach 1953: 491-2.
17 Watt, Ian 1957, The Rise of the Novel, Penguin; Chapter 1, 'Realism and the novel form.'
18 Watt 1972: 35.
19 Watt, Ian 1957, 'Fielding as novelist: Tom Jones,' Chapter 9 of The Rise of the Novel: 327. Watt does not source the quotation he uses.
20 Crane, R. S. 1961 [1952], 'The concept of plot and the plot of Tom Jones', [originally in] Critics and Criticism: Ancient and Modern, University of Chicago Press; selections reprinted as 'The concept of plot,' in Robert Scholes, ed. Approaches to the Novel: Materials for a Poetics, Chandler, Scranton: 233-243; this quotation: 238-239; also (short selection), as 'The concept of plot,' in Philip Stevick (ed.), The Theory of the Novel, Free Press, New York, 1967: 141-145; this quotation: 141-142.
21 Scholes, Robert & Kellogg, Robert 1966, The Nature of Narrative, Oxford University Press, London, Oxford, New York: 233-234.
22 Scholes & Kellogg: 234.
23 Stanzel, Franz 1971, Narrative Situations in the Novel, Indiana University Press, Bloomington, trs. from Die Typischen Erzählsituationen im Roman, Braumüller, Vienna, 1955: 23, 28.
24 Dorothy van Ghent 1953, The English Novel: Form and Function, Chapter 'On Tom Jones,' Harper & Row, New York: 65-83.
25 Van Ghent 1953: 68.
26 Van Ghent 1953: 80. [Note, in the context, her own sentence.]
Garry Gillard | New: 13 January, 2018 | Now: 20 December, 2018