ABSTRACT
Mr. George Moore says in his Confessions, if our memory does not deceive us, that when he and a certain French writer are dead no more ‘naturalistic’ novels will be written. Whether this is one of his characteristic outbursts of candour as to his and his friend's abilities, or merely a statement to the effect that novelists as a whole have no taste for such writing, we need not discuss. But we can frankly say that Mr. Joyce's work affords a distinct contradiction of the saying.
