Literary fiction novels are the sea mammals of the Literary Ocean -- sometimes they look like other fish, but you can't really mistake them for anything other than what they are. Thar she blows -- for the delectation of the Nobel Committee! The largest, fattest right whales are surrounded by the too-clever-by-half dolphins of experimental fiction, and in certain waters one encounters the odd metamodernist killer whale -- or even the narwhal of a novel in verse.
Such novels are supposed to reflect on human condition. At the risk of certain generalization I'll say they used to be studies of (many) characters. Character-driven vs plot-driven, then? Not a chance for such a clear definition to stand, for 100+ years high literature could have been ... anything at all.
Sometimes I think that perfect kind of literary writing makes the most mundane things thrilling -- like, in the finale of Gravity's Rainbow Thomas Pynchon made a prose poem out of the inquiries and responses of the missile launch sequence. I suppose many can enjoy the prose style of a particular novel independent of the plot -- few read Gravity's Rainbow for its plot or even for the characters, that with the 'protagonist''s personality sort of falling apart along the way.
Yet I understand that many readers of novels of that kind may well feel themselves like the marks in the shell game, with the implicit promise of the plot which is never found under the shell of their choice. Does having a genius for the game operator make them feel better?
So, has the literary fiction of the last ~100 years succeeded in capturing the attention of RavishA members? Why or why not?