Art is not reality. And it never will be. That’s what makes it so great. Few people have ever listened to a piece of music and said to themselves, “This isn’t realistic enough.” Why do we expect utter realism from literature?

While I love Gustave Flaubert and what he accomplished, his theories are not the last word in literature. Artists working with the artificial qualities of art have led to the creation of some of the greatest works of humanity.

For myself, I strive for the reality of the soul. Literature can be styled, there can be conceits, deus ex machina, plot holes – but as long as the human soul is depicted accurately, it doesn’t matter if the sky is blue or green or if spaceships fit into pockets.

“Realism,” has dominated literature for a long time, and still doesn’t completely duplicate existence exactly. That’s not important. What’s important is that, somehow, one soul touches another.