Let us begin with a generalisation: Richard Rorty’s approach to literature
is consistently – to use his own opposition – ‘solidarity-related’;
what he calls the ‘other side’, literary self-creation, remains programmatically
and intentionally undiscussed. One gets the impression
that literature, and the novel in particular, is being burdened with
an (‘unbearable’) heaviness of responsibility. Does the novel in
Rorty’s reflections appear as a source of multifarious metaphors, of
whole worlds born out of a writer’s imagination? Is there in it another
dimension, where mundane obligations no longer bind the human
being and where one can give rein to usually hidden desires and passions?
The answer is in the negative.