Zadie Smith's "White Teeth" is the latest in a new genre of over-heated realist novels. Are they just imitating Dickens without the emotional force?by James Wood / November 20, 2000 / Leave a comment
Published in November 2000 issue of Prospect Magazine
a genre is hardening. It is becoming possible to describe today’s “big, ambitious novel.” Familial resemblances are asserting themselves, and a parent can be named: Dickens. Such recent novels as Rushdie’s The Ground Beneath Her Feet, Pynchon’s Mason & Dixon, DeLillo’s Underworld, David Foster Wallace’s Infinite Jest, and Zadie Smith’s White Teeth overlap rather as the pages of an atlas expire into each other at their edges.
The big contemporary novel is a perpetual motion machine. Stories and sub-stories sprout on every page, flaunting their glamorous congestion. Vitality is storytelling, as far as these books are concerned. A parody would go like this. If a character is introduced in London (call him Toby Awknotuby, ie “To be or not to be”-ha!) then we will be swiftly told that he has a twin in Delhi (called Boyt: an anagram of Toby), who, like Toby, has the same curious genital deformation, and that their mother belongs to a religious cult based in the Orkney Islands, and that their father (who was born at the exact second that the Hiroshima bomb was dropped) has been a Hell’s Angel for the last 13 years (but in a curious Hell’s Angel group, devoted only to the fanatical study of late Wordsworth), and that their mad left-wing aunt, Delilah, was curiously struck dumb when Margaret Thatcher was elected prime minister, and has not spoken since. And all this, over many pages, before poor Toby Awknotuby has done a thing, or thought a thought!