49 pages • 1 hour read
E. M. ForsterAspects of the Novel
Nonfiction | Reference/Text Book | Adult | Published in 1927A modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
Chapters 1-2Chapter Summaries & Analyses
Chapter 1 Summary: “Author’s Note and Introduction”
The author’s note at the opening explains that the book consists of a series of lectures that the author gave in 1927 at the University of Cambridge. Forster explains that this is why the language is more informal than is typical in scholarly works. However, he says that given the novel’s typically colloquial nature, the tone of this book is in keeping with its subject matter.
At the beginning of the book, Forster includes a tribute to William George Clark, who bequeathed a portion of his estate to establish the lecture series that is the basis for the book. Forster notes that the lectures are meant to focus “on some period or periods of English literature not earlier than Chaucer” (15), and he says that his focus departs somewhat from that subject. Forster does not intend to focus on periods of literature, but on a particular form of literature: The novel.
He begins his discussion with a definition of the novel. Initially, he references Abel Chevally’s definition that a novel is a work of fiction of a certain length—specifically, it needs to be a minimum of 50,000 words. He then clarifies the definition further, saying that that novel must be neither poetry nor history. While Forster primarily concerns himself with the English novel, he points out that no discussion of the novel can be complete without references to French and Russian novels.
Forster explains that he intends to actively avoid a discussion of literary periods because time is immaterial to the novelist. The writer is only concerned with the pen, the paper, and the work. In a fever of creativity, the writer ignores literary periods, which are the critic’s domain. The writer focuses on the work itself, rather rather than trying to present a chronological picture that includes related works and influences. Forster will similarly focus his discussion on the work, rather than on the all-encompassing knowledge of the English novel. He introduces a distinction between what he coins the “genuine scholar” and the “pseudo-scholar” (23). The former is more of a philosopher, focused on seeing the entire picture of literature and its effects, while the latter is the typical critic concerned with classification rather than substance.
In defining the pseudo-scholar, Forster highlights the problems with much literary criticism. Primarily, the problem with classification and chronology is that these easily distract from the fundamental experience of a novel, which is the interaction between the writer and the reader. He urges his audience not to “visualize the English novelists […] as floating down [the] stream” of periods and movements, but to consider them “as seated together in a room […] all writing their novels simultaneously” (21).
Forster then pairs off three sets of authors: Samuel Richardson and Henry James; H.G. Wells and Charles Dickens; and Virginia Woolf and Laurence Stern. Forster offers paired quotations without any initial attribution. These pairs of writers are separated by nationality, culture, and significant amounts of time. However, Forster demonstrates the similarities in these authors’ approaches to writing.
By illustrating these comparisons, Forster asserts that although history and literature may appear to mirror one another, the artistry of the novel fundamentally depends on universal human truths rather than historical events. Forster concedes that literary tradition is important and that a good critic understands and explores those traditions. However, he argues that he must abandon chronology in his discussion because neither he nor his audience possess the level of reading required to thoroughly discuss tradition. He quotes T.S. Eliot to define the responsibility of the literary critic “to see literature steadily and to see it whole” (41), and Forster says that for the purpose of this work, the novel must be viewed as being “beyond time.” He concludes his introduction by explaining the title of this work, “Aspects,” as an open-ended word that allows for exploration, and he sketches the seven “aspects” that organize his discussion: “The Story; People; The Plot; Fantasy; Prophecy; Pattern and Rhythm” (43).
Chapter 2 Summary: “The Story”
Forster follows his introduction by focusing on “the story” element of the novel. He says the basic definition of story is a time-centered narrative. He expresses his regret that a fundamental defining factor of the novel is that it must be a story. He characterizes story as an object of fascination for people from prehistoric times, describing a vision of Neanderthal people sitting around a campfire, listening to a storyteller. He then turns to Scheherazade to illustrate the most primitive core of story: Suspense. Forster says that all people—irrespective of their intelligence or moral character—want to “know what happens next” and that a story is a failure if readers do “not want to know what happens next” (47). Thus, story is “the lowest and simplest of literary organisms” (48).
A story, he explains, relates to daily life and how the human mind chooses which things to remember. It is the mechanism by which the mind applies the individual’s values to the passage of time. Forster argues that the novel must consider both values and time to construct a narrative that captures a reader’s attention and makes coherent sense. He insists that story is separate from plot—a later chapter investigates plot—and, as such, is inherently concerned with time, even if the novel departs from a linear or even cohesive sense of time.
Forster turns to Sir Walter Scott to illustrate his discussion of story. He argues that Scott is not a very accomplished writer, regardless of his revered reputation. However, Scott’s storytelling is compelling. Forster proposes paraphrasing Scott’s Antiquary to demonstrate how the story functions. Forster’s description of Scott’s approach to character introductions and plotting highlights Scott’s ability to tantalize the reader. However, Forster says that Scott’s focus on time rather than a marriage of time and values results in a novel that Forster views as simple or shallow.
In contrast, Forster offers a brief discussion of Arnold Bennet’s The Old Wives’ Tale, which is the story of time itself, following two girls from childhood through their death as old women. The consciousness of time in this novel, Forster argues, allows for more depth than Scott’s novel. However, the novel’s treatment of time as simply inevitable causes it to lose the profundity necessary for a great novel. Tolstoy’s War and Peace, on the other hand, captures time within a sense of vast space—the geography of Russia—and, as a result, that novel embodies greatness in its story.
Next, Forster turns to the story’s ability to contain the oratorical voice of the author or narrator. Importantly, the story itself doesn’t tease out the individuality of the author’s voice—instead, it focuses the reader on the experience of listening to a story rather than merely reading a text. The story allows the voice to speak from the page, which allows the reader to tap into their primal desire for the story.
Forster ends the chapter by discussing Gertrude Stein, who, he says, has tried to eliminate time from the novel—however, in doing so, she has lost the story. She crafts fiction that refuses to acknowledge time and instead only explores values; as a result, she loses the fundamental thread of the novel. Though Forster commends her experimentation with form, he says her work fails to yield any value at all because, with the loss of time, the novel no longer has a story and becomes “unintelligible.” He concludes by stressing that “the novel [always] tells a story” (68).
Chapters 1-2 Analysis
Right from the introduction to Aspects of the Novel, Forster strives to portray his ideas as being accessible and entertaining, rather than formal and academic. To do this, he uses metaphor and figurative language to enliven his introduction to his discussion of the novel. He abandons the academic prose style that literary critics typically prefer and instead chooses to highlight his experience as a novelist even in the manner he presents his material. Forster enhances his discussions of definitions and formal literary periods with humor and descriptive prose. Additionally, he chooses to cast himself as a “pseudo-scholar” in contrast to a “genuine” or “true” scholar (22-23). He also often uses the pronoun “we” in his discussion, thereby including the audience in his pursuit of the workings of the novel—rather than lecturing his audience from a position of knowledge and authority, Forster creates the sense that he is working alongside his audience to understand the material. This is in stark contrast to much literary scholarship of the time. Since Forster makes no pretense of his expertise, his audience is more comfortable and open to listening to him. This opening establishes him as a working novelist and a teacher who prizes approachability; he portrays himself as a person who is still learning and is passionate about learning, which allows his audience to connect more fully with him and his ideas.
The author’s note and introduction also demonstrate an important element of the structure and tone of the book: Since the book is adapted from a lecture series that Forster gave, its tone is colloquial and the topics build organically from one concept to another, as conversations do. Forster’s choice to pair ideas throughout the book is partially due to the oral nature of the series. The ideas not only clearly connect to one another, but Forster also employs several strategies to maintain his audience’s focus, since a significant amount of time passed between his lectures. He pairs ideas throughout, which is a cue that helps maintain a coherent structure for both listener and reader. The metaphors Forster uses—like the writer’s room in which all the novelists through history are writing simultaneously—craft vivid images that help his audience connect to the subject matter and hold onto the thread of progressing ideas and arguments. The lecture format also inspires a more colloquial and casual tone, imbued with humor and passion, which is not typical of most literary criticism. Although all these strategies are particularly connected to the oral format of a lecture series, they also serve to increase the accessibility of Forster’s arguments for readers.
These beginning chapters introduce one of the main themes of the work, which is The Conflict Between Reality and Fiction. While discussing how to treat time in the novel, Forster says: “History develops, Art stands still” (39). This, according to him, is the primary distinction between the novel (or fiction) and history (or reality). The novel is a work of art at its core—once it is created, it simply exists; however, history may need to be probed for accuracy and revised with the passage of time. History and literature were treated as a single discipline for several hundred years, so Forster does not believe it is sufficient to define a novel by stating that it is a prose work of a certain length that tells a story. A novel is always fictional, although it may contain many elements of reality and truth. The fictional element of the novel—that which is not real—is what distinguishes it as art rather than history. Even though some of the aspects that Forster will discuss are also present in history, it is the fiction and artistry of the novel that define it as such. This is the first of many pairings that Forster uses to create a thread of distinction between the novel and other forms of writing and art; this situates the novel as its own distinct object.
In Chapter 2, while analyzing the aspect of story in the novel, Forster also highlights The Mission of the Novelist. To do so, he critiques Sir Walter Scott’s The Antiquary and holds it as an example of a novel that fails to elucidate human truths—rather, in this novel, Scott’s “only serious aim” is to “make one thing happen after another” (61). Forster “paraphrases” Scott’s novel, interspersing this with his own commentary that highlights and illustrates Forster’s points. Forster concedes that Scott’s work demonstrates the power of the story to keep readers asking, “What next? Forster’s paraphrase also reveals the predictability of the story; still, the reader desires to confirm their assumptions about the story and keeps reading, which illustrates the simple nature of story as a building block of the novel. Forster concedes the importance of a suspenseful story in a novel, which Scott’s The Antiquary has; he says Scott “had the primitive power of keeping the reader in suspense and playing on his curiosity” (53). Yet, Forster says, the “shallowness” of this story prevents the novel from being great.
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