Contemporary Romance Book Quotes

There’s this word in Japanese: tsundoku,” Neil says suddenly. “It’s my favorite word in any language.” “What does it mean?” He grins. “It means acquiring more books than you could ever realistically read.

The first sign that Karma was now in cahoots with the Devil Incarnate to ruin her existance should've been before sunrise and pre-coffee.

Before she knew it, Remy found herself daydreaming about Logan holding her tight against his lean, muscular body.

You are such a tease, Remy—you just love to lead every guy on. Don’t you? But you’re the one who’s going to get hurt. Logan is a player. Trust me, I know him and his kind.

Oh, Remy, get off your high horse; everyone knows you have staked your claim on the new guy.

That's a movie quote, right? You know, if you do that with books, people think you're intelligent." Sophie lowered her chin. "If this is your pathetic attempt to seduce me again, you're falling miserably." "I don't seduce woman." Phin shoved back his chair and stood up. "They fall into my open arms." "Clumsy of them.

She felt like she was missing something–as if there was more to the Shepherd than met the eye—but the harder she had tried to figure out what it was, the less she was able to come up with an answer. There was something about the dog that was vaguely familiar.

Why couldn’t people understand that she just didn’t have an attraction for Daniel? She would not go out with Daniel “just to have a boyfriend.” She didn’t need that to define herself. She would rather be single than date just anyone, just to have a boyfriend.

Neil McNair has become my alarm clock, if alarm clocks had freckles and knew all your insecurities.

I love you Bonnie. So much that I hurt with it. And I hate it, and I love it, and I want it to go away, and i want it to stay forever....

You wrote a fucking book. Do you know how many people wish they could do that, or how many people talk about doing it and never do?

The point is, Jenna, no one is normal or perfect like that house you see across the street. Everyone suffers from their own struggles, whether they’re big or small.

There won't be any sex for the first three hundred thousand words... that's how you know this is an asexual-to-demisexual story.

When you adapt to someone, they become a part of your routine, a part of you. And when they’re taken away, you feel a bit lost. No matter how much you think it won’t affect your life, it does.

He glances down at his arms. “I didn’t even realize—am I expos-ing too much skin? I don’t want to be parading myself in front of you, taunting you with what you can’t have. I have a hoodie in my backpack. I can put it on if you’re—” “You’re definitely better. We’re leaving.

All I know is, being away from you......makes it hard to breathe. I miss you so much

I know you can do this. You’re the person who revolutionized garbage collection at Westview, remember?

I also wanted you to realize that even though the pain will always be there, I’m living proof you can get past this. Right now I know it feels impossible, but one day you’ll look back and see how far you’ve come.

I couldn't hear anything or anyone, there was only the sound of our sex and the smell of books.

There was no ladylike behavior when it came to eating fresh homemade chocolate chip cookies. " - Kailin Gow, Saving You Saving Me (Book 1 of the You & Me Trilogy)

Lonely. My heart grips as the word crosses my mind. So many different feelings come with the word, not just loneliness. The word went beyond its definition. Loneliness has a deeper meaning to those who truly know what it means to be alone.

My past still haunts me when I sleep, although I saw that - much to my surprise- his does as well.

The danger of prolonged despair is its tendency to cloud the gift of a new beginning that every tomorrow offers. --Anissa's Redemption

Don't worry about offending people. Any time you write something thought provoking, some idiots will complain, because they hate it when you make them think.

The road was so dimly lighted. There we;re no highway signs to guide. But they made up their minds, If all roads were blind, They wouldn't give up 'til they died....

You didn't judge my past. That's when I knew I couldn't turn away from you even if I tried...

And just so you know, we might be having dinner together, but this isn’t a date,” Neil says, completely straight-faced. “I just don’t want you to get too excited. I mean, your parents are going to be there, so it would be really awkward if you were fawning over me the whole time.

Sometimes people rise above their past, sometimes not. And sometimes the people you least expect it from—like Raylan and my father—have a way of surprising you in the end.

Depression is evil. Before you know it, it takes over and there's no escaping it.

Write your dreams down, toss them into the sea, and make a wish, Isabel. Life is too short to live with regrets, own today as if it was your last.

In addition to my new outlook on life, in some absurdly simple way, Anissa gave me several new reasons to live. Above all, I had to see her again and find out what, if anything, would happen between her and me.

Pain of the past never goes away, you just find a way to deal with it. And in the future....... all the promise it holds.... that's what keeps you moving forward, and out of the darkness.

The hours tick by as I lie in bed. Memories keep surfacing, tormenting me into unbelievable sadness. I can't bring myself to move. I can't fight the memories that keep filling my thoughts. I stay curled in the fetal position as each memory plays out. I can't stop them from coming. I can't make them go away. Nothing can distract me. I can't block the memories, so they continue to come.

This thing we have, it hurts, he continued. But the pain is almost sweet because it means YOU happened. We happened. And I can't regret that, no matter how little or how long I get to tag along with you and pretend that I don't hate having people recognize me or take pictures or having people whisper about my record-- " Your record?" " My criminal record, Bonnie, Nothing platinum there. I'm an ex-con, and starting over and building a new life where I can put it behind me, I'm building a new life where it will never be behind me, and for you, its worth it. It's easy math.

I want a man that will do what he needs to do to take care of his family. I will give that man every ounce of love and support I have to give. I will never measure him against another man. I will never want what other people have. I will simply enjoy every minute we have together.

Adding to my emotional dizziness on Sunday, I spoke with my sister, who kept noting how amazing Michael is, and what a brave and selfless man he is for having helped as he did.

The lead-up to the moment was magical in every respect, but a part of me was, and still is, uneasy about the whole thing for many reasons.

Sometimes funny is all you've got.

My mind screams for me to run, but my feet are planted where they are. This can’t be happening. This can’t be real. There’s no way this is real!

A few minutes later, my eyes began to feel a bit droopy, but I vaguely noticed that Anissa was whispering something.

Special Logan Kiss... Yeah, but you didn't know that I'd recited how i felt for you right then, in that moment, in my mins. The words flowed silently, so easily. There's no mistaking them. When I gave you those kisses, I was telling myself and you.... He peck my nose "I..." He kisses my forehead "..LOVE.." My heart swells as He presses his lips to my chin, then he whispers " YOU...

Talk to me. Say something, anything," he pleaded quietly as if he was trying to tame a wild animal. "There's nothing to say." He looked up and lowered his eyebrows on his eyes. "Why did you kiss me?

But then, as I looked in the mirror, I became fixated on some hairs near my carotid artery that were still there. I pushed the blade deep against my neck to shave them off, and then blood squirted out.

The morning I drove by and saw you alone, staring at the house. I told myself to keep on driving, but something told me to stop. And when I'd seen how lost and confused you were, something told me I was meant to be there.... I was meant to be there so I could help you find your way

It feels like someone is gripping my heart and twisting it. It feels like I can't breathe. I shut my eyes tightly against the memory that is threatening to surface. I can't breathe. Can't breathe. Can't breathe!

But I stayed up thinking about how I've been lying to him, no less than I lie to myself in my pre-sleep ritual. And I lied to him again just as we were growing more intimate than ever and he asked me about my scar.

Food shouldn’t be that shade of green, lass.” – Faolán MacIntyre

I grab the nearest lamppost when my knees threaten to give out, panting for breath as the words rip through me

I will never intentionally ask you for anything that you aren’t willing to give. But if I do, you can always say no.” He lets that sink in for a moment. “But you won’t.

You're beautiful, Jenna. i'm a man and I'm afraid to admit when I'm lucky enough to look at someone as beautiful as you.

Take a table and I’ll join you in a second.’’ When he walked away I did something I couldn’t be scolded for doing. I checked out his ass in his jeans and…that looked good.

He clearly suffers from some past traumas too, so hopefully he'll understand why I was untruthful to him about mine.

She was somehow this damaged creature I had fortuitously encountered along my path and now cared about as a result. Granted, I didn't cause her harm, as I did with Icarus, but I somehow began to feel responsible for her welfare.

My name is Cassandra Temperance Steel, I said to the beautiful imaginary Death Angel, as if my name wasn’t already on her Santa Claus-like list of souls to collect that evening. Spare me.

He gently sucked on my lower lip, biting it carefully with his teeth. It sent tingles all over my body and I had to hold on to his strong shoulders, firm under my fingers. I opened my mouth and tugged once on his lip ring. What happened next was the best sound I had ever heard before. He groaned so deeply that I couldn’t keep my answering moan quiet.

What would you say is your pet peeve about poorly crafted romance novels? That would be when two adult characters avoid having a grown-up conversation that could change the course of the story.” “You know what I love most about the books? I love how they can make us cheer for pretty much any character if we understand why they’re doing something. We’ll let them get away with pretty much anything–including pushing away the woman they desperately want–if they have a strong motivation. The why behind their actions.

I want to make you feel things you’ve never felt, push you in ways you never knew existed, expand your horizons in ways you never dreamt needed expanding…” Me too. “I want to show you that pleasure can be pain…” Whatever you want. “And pain can be pleasure…” Anything. “And that those worlds can be yours if you just let go and exist…” I’ll follow you anywhere. “I want to break you apart. And put you back together again.” I’m yours. “Beautiful, I want to make you fly.” Please. Anything.

Life, Jersey Girl, sometimes pauses. It stops. Sometimes we don’t even realize how everything around us is moving so quickly while we’re standing in the middle of it, allowing it to pass us by. Most of us, if not all, just lose the why. Some of us never figure it out to begin with. We lose sight of the purpose that wakes us up every morning and pushes our day forward. We lose a sense of hope and the feeling of life in general. We view life as more of a test, one that’s trying to beat us down every day.

The male tax?” “Yeah. The tax that men have to pay for not having to menstruate every month. Or risk getting pregnant. Or deal with the physically stronger sex in a macho world… Women have to put up with all that stuff, so the least we men can do is pay the male tax and get the tab.

I whisper, “What do I need?” “Release.” That one word scrapes across my nerves and lights me on fire. His deep voice dances on the air, murmuring hotly, “You need someone who will take all of your thoughts and responsibilities away from you, who lets you be free to just feel.” Suddenly, his hands are on my waist and he’s pulling me onto his lap and I’m straddling his thigh and his hands are in my hair and his lips are on mine… And the world stops.

But I did feel the vertigo of death’s invitation, beckoning me towards the dark waters below. Only a newfound perspective and desire steadied my wavering soul. I came to realize, just in time, that suicide was far too easy – and obscenely cowardly – after someone I knew, not even half my age, had been through so much worse and still marched gloriously on.

Submitted for your approval--the curious case of Colleen O’Brien and the gorgeous time traveling Scot who landed in her living room.” – Rod Serling

Every gesture and every look he gives me takes me by surprise and causes my heart to stutter.

She’s beautiful. Her responsiveness is intoxicating. I have to have this woman.

From the way he’s looking at me there is no question what he wants. His eyes are sparkling with pleasure as they take in my scantily clad body.

The guy in your book? I’m that guy,” “I’ve never done any of the stuff in that book,” she said, “But I want to. I’ve wanted to for a while.

The Poets say you can live on love alone, but if that were true their books would be free.

I was falling back again and fast, or maybe I’d never stopped feeling something for him. And it was still hopeless, but at least, I could touch him a little bit.

Visto che siamo al mondo, stiamo tutti morendo.

We'll have all night for slow and sweet," she said softly. "But right now, I really want that hard and fast you mentioned earlier.

He brought his forehead against mine and we breathed the same air, slowly to try and find our composure. But it was impossible for me as long as he’s so close to me. “You’re ruining me.’’ “You ruined me.

He stares at me—taking me in—with his lips slightly parted. I struggle to hold myself in place as we gawk at each other. I want so desperately to run, but something is holding me back, keeping me in place.

I had never had a big opinion for myself. I had always thought I'd be a fuck up, that I'd be disappointed like always by life and people. But at this very moment, I knew it. I wasn't a good man, not well-adjusted. —Nolan

Just easy. Life feels like it’s always hard. There’s never a calm way to get through it, to just breathe. Every day brings the same challenges, the same routines…the same everything. And as much as I hope the next day will be different, it’s not. It’s just the same old cycle over and over again.

Be myself. If only I remembered what it was like to be myself. I’m a fucking waitress in a crappy bar in a small town in the middle of nowhere. I was going nowhere. I had nothing to give him beside myself and my heart and he denied me.

All I could think about was the heat of his soft lips, the way they fitted so wonderfully as I was coaxing him to open them some more, just enough to let my tongue slip in and taste him. I needed a taste, needed to complete this fantasy of mine.

Do you want to play a game?” he asks, his tone rich and dark and sensuous like his chocolate. Every atom in me stands at attention. “What kind of game?” “We’ll call it ‘Sir Says’. The rules are very simple—I give you a command. . . and you obey.

I looked at his hand clasping mine. Three years ago, on October 15, 2016, the brilliant blue blaze of the comet had crossed the vastness of our world in Colombia. I could see it, almost as if we were back there, standing on the roof of the dorms as we looked over the city together. We didn’t know it then, but our life together was just beginning.

In the contemporary section, my fingers paused on a small paperback tucked into the shelf, the first in a series of five that was never finished. Even as I took it off the shelf, and flipped through the pages, I already knew the first line--- There was only one road in and one road out of Eloraton, New York, and most people never took it. But I had.

Any real, beautiful thing in this world shouldn't be tamed or claimed or broken. It should be allowed to be, worked with, not against, appreciated. Don't be afraid of the wild she has left. It makes her special." - Cowboy McKennon Kelly to Cowgirl in Training Devon Brooke.

It didn’t matter that she didn’t live here, that a relationship was out of the question. It was probably because a relationship wouldn’t happen that he could let himself get this close. He wrapped his arms tighter around her as though this were all that existed in the world. Just the two of them, the mountain, the clean winter air. The taste of her tongue on his lips.

Ten short years ago, nobody had ever heard of a selfie. But today every decent cell phone has not one but two cameras, so you can take idiotic duck face pictures. And don't forget the billion dollar selfie-stick industry. Capitalism has found a whole new way to turn our vanity into profit.

He swallowed hard. "How do you feel?" "I feel like I want to close these drapes, turn down the lights and crawl into that bed with you and spend the night making love with you. All night." She blushed furiously. ... "All night, huh?" he asked. She nodded. He gave her a sexy grin and repeated her earlier words back to her. "Deal.

I write books that I want to read. I write books that feature curvy heroines because I'm a curvy woman myself and it gets tiresome to read books about skinny women all the time. There's nothing wrong with skinny women, I just don't relate to their lives, and it would be really hard for me, as a writer, to fully inhabit that character otherwise.

There are a number of good books that draw upon fox legends -- foremost among them, Kij Johnson's exquisite novel The Fox Woman. I also recommend Neil Gaiman's The Dream Hunters (with the Japanese artist Yoshitaka Amano);  Larissa Lai's unusual novel, When Fox Is a Thousand; Helen Oyeyemi's recent novel, Mr. Fox; and Ellen Steiber's gorgeous urban fantasy novel, A Rumor of Gems, as well as her heart-breaking novella "The Fox Wife" (published in Ruby Slippers, Golden Tears). For younger readers, try the "Legend of Little Fur" series by Isobelle Carmody.  You can also support a fine mythic writer by subscribing to Sylvia Linsteadt's The Gray Fox Epistles: Wild Tales By Mail.  For the fox in myth, legend, and lore, try: Fox by Martin Wallen; Reynard the Fox, edited by Kenneth Varty; Kitsune: Japan's Fox of Mystery, Romance, and Humour by Kiyoshi Nozaki;Alien Kind: Foxes and Late Imperial Chinese Narrative by Raina Huntington; The Discourse on Foxes and Ghosts: Ji Yun and Eighteenth-Century Literati Storytelling by Leo Tak-hung Chan; and The Fox and the Jewel: Shared and Private Meanings in Contemporary Japanese Inari Worship, by Karen Smythers.

He drinks his coffee tentatively, glancing at me every few seconds, watching me. Every time he glances in my direction, I quickly turn away though he obviously knows I'm watching him. I know he's wondering why I'm staring at him, but he doesn't ask. I finally take a sip of coffee, set the mug back on the table, and voice what's on my mind, "I want to draw you.

You know how there’s that one person who stumbles into your life and you instantly have a connection with them? Someone who’s a genuinely good person. Someone you just know you can build a great bond with, and it doesn’t have to be in a romantic way either. It can be with someone you have no attraction to whatsoever, you just instantly recognize something in them and they in you. Like in another realm, in another life, you were meant to be together in some way. Whether with a mother, daughter, sibling, best friend, or romantic partner, it’s a strong, unexplainable connection between two individuals

I said nothing in my texts. You came up with your own conclusions and you were mad thinking about me being with someone else…’’ “Stop,’’ he said, his jaw tightening. “Touching another man…’’ “Stop it.’’ “Sleeping…’’ He ran to me and grabbed my shoulders, shaking me once, not hard, but enough to make me stop. “Quit it,’’ he whispered, his voice deep and dark.

Why are you looking at me like that?’’ he asked, his hand tensing for a second on my hip. “No reason.’’ I moved my hand up his chest and on the way his abs contracted. He pushed me away abruptly, forcing me to sit up with him. With the scruff hiding parts of his cheeks I wasn’t sure, but he seemed to be blushing. “You shouldn’t touch a man like that in the morning,’’ he rasped, his hand hiding his crotch.

I'm filled with that buzz that finishing a good book gives you. You know the one. When all you want to do is savor the words that just changed your life, even if for just a moment. When you're still high from experiencing every up and down the characters went through. Feeling as though you were right there with them, seated front row, hands in the air as you take that first plunge down to the final dip of the roller coaster they call life.

People don’t have anniversaries for the day they fall in love.” “They should. I remember every day and every moment that was special with you. Love is fragile... a gift. And when you love someone, you should be the caretaker of their heart.” “Loving you has been the greatest gift I’ve ever been given. You know that, right?” Xuan nodded and then pulled me close to him as if to reply. The feel of his lips on my neck was like an electric shock, making the little hairs stand. “Stay still or I’ll ruin your makeup,” he whispered in my ear. “I don’t mind being fashionably late,” I suggested.

His deep voice drifted to her through the crowd of women. “…my lady when she returns. Och, there ye are, Blossom,” Faolán grinned, standing up and taking her hand so she could ease back into the restaurant booth. “These lasses were just asking if I was a stripper. I told them I doona think so,” he said, his face clouded with uncertainty. “I’m not, am I?” The inquisitive lasses in question flushed scarlet and scattered to the four corners of the room at the murderous look on Colleen’s face. “No, you’re not, but I guess I can see how they’d think that,” she muttered darkly. “What you are is a freaking estrogen magnet.

Don’t cry,’’ he breathed out so very close to my face. Just a little closer and I’d feel his lips ghosting against mine. “It’s like a punch in my guts when you cry.’’ “You shouldn’t touch me,’’ I said, but despite my words, I didn’t try to move away from his touch. A tear ran to my upper lip and I tasted it with the very tip of my tongue. Nolan’s eyes darkened when he followed it, not straying from my mouth. I could see goosebumps over his skin on his neck and on his forearms. “Nolan?

One of his hands move away from my face to flatten against my back, pulling me closer to him as he deepens the kiss. He parts my lips under his as my mind seems to sign quietly in content. I kiss him back as fiercely as he kisses me, unable to control the infatuation that rushes through me - feeling almost like fireworks. Not so careful anymore. Little shivers of urgency shoot through me. I push off the window, pressing closer to him. The rush of sensation that is coursing through me feels like I've drunk a gallon of coffee. It feels like an electric buzz is flooding between us.

We continued dancing as a swift gale wheeled through the hills of Santa Cruz. Xuan leaned down to whisper into my ear, his lips lightly brushing the helix. “Once upon a time there was a boy, and he loved a girl very much. He was sad because he didn’t think the girl noticed him. Until one day the uni- verse intervened and a beautiful comet brought them together after a tragic accident occurred that day. The boy and the girl found comfort and friendship in each other that night. And something new and extraordinary began to blossom under the heavens, something that would burn with such bright- ness that all the stars would be in awe. And the boy fell madly in love with the girl and promised to always find her, in this life and the next.” “That’s my favorite story.” Xuan smiled. “It’s the best one I’ve ever told, Ms. Steel.

I want you to know I have never loved anyone like I love you. More than Darcy loved Elizabeth or Heathcliff loved Cathy. I just don’t want to make you a widow.” “I never really understood why Brontë is considered to be a romance writer. We were required to read Wuthering Heights in high school and I always believed that her novel showcased the bleakest aspects of human nature. The story provided readers with a small yet unforgettable glimpse into the depths of human cruelty. Personally, I never considered the story romantic because the love shared between Cathy and Heathcliff was fatal, not just for themselves but for those around them. Their souls were incompatible, and they were a toxic pairing. Despite their love, passion, jealousy, and desire for connection, they were unable to recognize this fact.” “I was never a fan of Victorian romance novels.” “It was never one of my favorites. It’s often viewed as one of the great romance novels of all time, but I think it represents something darker: the fatal, selfish side of love, obsession, and abuse. To this day, I have not encountered a more accurate depiction of how love can become selfish.” “Why do you say that?” Xuan asked. “Because I think you have to love someone in the way that I love you to truly understand what love means... and to understand how wrong the story is. My soul and yours are the same in a way that Catherine and Heathcliff’s could never be. Widow or not, I will never stop loving you, Xuan. You have mesmerized me. My very soul has been entangled completely by you over these past three years. If Brontë or Austen could write the greatest love story of all time they’d write our story. And whether you marry me or not, how I feel about you will never change.

I looked to the sitting room then and gaped at Alec's body lying across my sofa making it look smaller than it was. He was reading something. A book. "What are you readin'?" I curiously asked. "That porn book we were talking about earlier at my house. This dude is my God! He just fucked this Ana chick while she was on her period." "Stop it!" I screeched. "Stop readin' and put the bloody book down!" He was reading Fifty Shades of Grey. I was both horrified and mortified. Alec got up from the sofa, placed the book on the coffee table and turned in my direction. "Why are you blushing?" Him noticing my embarrassment only caused my already red cheeks to heat up even more. "Oh damn, your cheeks are so flushed," Alec said and took a step towards me.

He smirks, shaking his head and letting his eyes wander. I watch him carefully, wondering what I can say to get him to leave. “I’m not leaving until you answer some questions. Plus, I’m holding your sketchbook hostage, so you might want to cooperate.” I raise an eyebrow at him. I guess there isn’t much I can say. “This isn’t a hostage negotiation.” He chuckles half-heartedly as his eyes take me in, almost sizing me up. “I guess I should introduce myself.” He holds a hand out for me to shake. “I’m Nathan.” I stare at his hand for a moment. “Taylor,” I reply, meeting his eyes again without taking his hand. He lets his hand fall back to his side. “At least I got you to say something non-hostile.” “I haven’t been hostile,” I object. His eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, haven’t you?” “Why don’t you leave me alone?” I snap. “Leave and don’t come back.” I move passed him, heading for my apartment. He can’t follow and annoy me if I lock the door. “Where are you going?” he demands. I look back over my shoulder and roll my eyes at him, indicating the answer should be obvious: anywhere he isn’t. Once inside, I slam the door behind me. “That was totally not hostile!” he calls after me, sarcastically. I quickly head for my bedroom door, slamming it, too.

Sugar,” Jake said, “I’ve wanted you since the first time you sassed me.” “I wanted to punch you in the nose.” He laughed and kissed her forehead. “My advertising skills left something to be desired.” “You rooked three unsuspecting women.” “I know.” He kissed her lips, taking his time. “I’m offering you a chance for payback.” “And that payback is sex?” He smelled awesome, like a hot, sexy man who’d been in a kitchen trying to please her. Or maybe please himself. With Jake, you never knew. He pulled her tighter against him, kissing her slowly, thoroughly. “I’d do my damnedest to make you a happy woman the second time I sold you something.” Sugar looked into Jake’s eyes. He was too hot, too sexy, almost taking her breath away. “I think your gravy’s burning.” “Nice try. I turned it off.” He tugged her hips against him, kissing her as if he’d never tasted anything as good as her mouth. Sugar moaned and let Jake hike her up on his waist. “If I’m moving too fast, say so. I’ll back off and feed you the best shrimp and steak dinner you’ve ever had. Just good friends breaking bread together.” Sugar gasped as Jake sank his teeth gently into her lower lip. Heat and warmth filled her, stealing her desire to tell him no about anything. “I’m not really that hungry.” His smile turned dangerous. “I am.

The dominant literary mode of the twentieth century has been the fantastic. This may appear a surprising claim, which would not have seemed even remotely conceivable at the start of the century and which is bound to encounter fierce resistance even now. However, when the time comes to look back at the century, it seems very likely that future literary historians, detached from the squabbles of our present, will see as its most representative and distinctive works books like J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings, and also George Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four and Animal Farm, William Golding’s Lord of the Flies and The Inheritors, Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse-Five and Cat’s Cradle, Ursula Le Guin’s The Left Hand of Darkness and The Dispossessed, Thomas Pynchon’s The Crying of Lot-49 and Gravity’s Rainbow. The list could readily be extended, back to the late nineteenth century with H.G. Wells’s The Island of Dr Moreau and The War of the Worlds, and up to writers currently active like Stephen R. Donaldson and George R.R. Martin. It could take in authors as different, not to say opposed, as Kingsley and Martin Amis, Anthony Burgess, Stephen King, Terry Pratchett, Don DeLillo, and Julian Barnes. By the end of the century, even authors deeply committed to the realist novel have often found themselves unable to resist the gravitational pull of the fantastic as a literary mode. This is not the same, one should note, as fantasy as a literary genre – of the authors listed above, only four besides Tolkien would find their works regularly placed on the ‘fantasy’ shelves of bookshops, and ‘the fantastic’ includes many genres besides fantasy: allegory and parable, fairy-tale, horror and science fiction, modern ghost-story and medieval romance. Nevertheless, the point remains. Those authors of the twentieth century who have spoken most powerfully to and for their contemporaries have for some reason found it necessary to use the metaphoric mode of fantasy, to write about worlds and creatures which we know do not exist, whether Tolkien’s ‘Middle-earth’, Orwell’s ‘Ingsoc’, the remote islands of Golding and Wells, or the Martians and Tralfa-madorians who burst into peaceful English or American suburbia in Wells and Vonnegut. A ready explanation for this phenomenon is of course that it represents a kind of literary disease, whose sufferers – the millions of readers of fantasy – should be scorned, pitied, or rehabilitated back to correct and proper taste. Commonly the disease is said to be ‘escapism’: readers and writers of fantasy are fleeing from reality. The problem with this is that so many of the originators of the later twentieth-century fantastic mode, including all four of those first mentioned above (Tolkien, Orwell, Golding, Vonnegut) are combat veterans, present at or at least deeply involved in the most traumatically significant events of the century, such as the Battle of the Somme (Tolkien), the bombing of Dresden (Vonnegut), the rise and early victory of fascism (Orwell). Nor can anyone say that they turned their backs on these events. Rather, they had to find some way of communicating and commenting on them. It is strange that this had, for some reason, in so many cases to involve fantasy as well as realism, but that is what has happened.