Most literary historians have found that the romantic shift from mimetic to expressive theories of art was “fatal to the audience”—leaving the poet a soliloquist, the audience an unnecessary appendage. Blake's idea of the audience helps show that, while artistic withdrawal certainly defines a polar phase of the theory, the logic of the theory does provide a complementary phase of fulfillment characterized by union between artist and audience. Since theories of art are often latent social theories, we can extend the logic of romantic aesthetics to outline a society of imagination.

Scholars have attempted to determine the precise details of the dice games played in the tavern in Le Jeu de saint Nicolas but have not connected these particular games to the play's larger structural and thematic design. Jean Bodel's alterations of the Iconia Sancti Nicolai legend are governed by the concept of game as an activity defined and delimited by rules, set off from events of the “real world,” yet intently pursued. His modifications are appropriate to a dramatic representation, for drama itself in the Middle Ages was considered “play,” a game. The idea of game was deeply rooted in the medieval imagination: all human history was seen as a contest between God and Satan that is controlled and determined by God. Bodel contrasts the rule-governed realm of the pagans with the Christian realm of belief and celebrates God's supreme control of the game of history.

In A Vision, W. B. Yeats describes the principal symbol of his work as the figure of a double cone formed by tracing a line along the outer edges of two intersecting gyres, or vortices, the apex of each vortex in the middle of the other's base. He then asserts that the only writer outside speculative philosophy to have used the symbol was Flaubert, who had planned to write a story called “La Spirale.” Though it is impossible completely to credit Yeats's reading of “La Spirale,” his general assertion is nevertheless correct, extraordinarily, as a description of the Trois Contes, where the double cone appears both as a narrative structure and a theme, symbolizing the creative passage from material to spiritual life.

The charades of Vanity Fair represent an important but little understood fable of demonic and outraged womanhood as a subtext of Thackeray's larger historical fiction. In marking the culmination of Becky Sharp's career in the world of vanity—her triumph as Clytemnestra and her impersonation of the plaintive Philomele—the charades imply a corrupt sexual ideology threatening both violence and violation. But from the perspective of Thackeray as narrator, the verbally compressed and designedly opaque charades repress as much as they expose. His uncharacteristic narrative reticence in presenting the charades without comment reveals an uneasiness on Thackeray's part about the powers of the authorizing mind to know and to represent the darker laws that govern history and society.

“Journey of the Magi,” anticipating the Four Quartets, constitutes a vision of historical process and a metaphor of religious mystery more complex than in Eliot's earlier work. Experimenting with dramatic monologue, remembering Browning's interest in the Higher Criticism, Eliot juxtaposes oral recitation against recorded account to provide an analogy for the Incarnation. As elsewhere, Eliot finds symbol and writing suspect: the Magus, in ironic ignorance, uses literally a figurative language Christianity had not yet created, but he intuits the Word better than readers steeped in biblical symbolism. Simultaneously Eliot interfiliates the Magus' speech with Matthew's gospel, Andrewes' 1622 Nativity sermon, and his own “impossible” re-presentation of the original utterance: the resulting historical sequence, collapsed by anachronisms, makes the poem's structure emblematize the Logos. Through the ostensible “loss” of the scribe's transcription, Eliot implicitly questions biblical canonicity and the traditions of Christian interpretation. The poem approximates his religious position in 1927.

The interaction between literature and psychology in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries is an important factor in the transition from realism to modernism. Empirical psychology, as developed by William James and Ernst Mach, unmasked the traditional concept of “self” as a delusion, replacing it by a new emphasis on the intentionality of consciousness. Writers such as Henry James, Robert Musil, and Hermann Broch had direct contact with empirical psychology and experimented overtly with modes of rendering this new understanding of consciousness; others, like Alfred Doblin or Virginia Woolf, while less directly influenced by empiricism, nonetheless reflect in their novels a similar attempt to abolish the “self” as a discrete entity. In this respect they differ radically from other modern novelists (e.g., Joyce and Faulkner), and they also resolve quite differently the technical problem of presenting consciousness in fiction.