Life is a gooeyness whose bearings on literature have been the occasion for perennial pondering.
But this life, these otherwise unnoticeable people's suitability for literary expression seemed new. One also felt that a consequence of the story was seemingly to intensify life, even dignify it, and to locate in it shadowed corners and niches that needed revealing so that we readers could practice life better ourselves. Life, in Ford's view, is something that is or flows in easily recognizable ways. Inordinately, idiotically simple. What makes it interesting is that Ford can write well, and but this may be a prejudice of mine simpletons cannot do that.