Flannery O'Connor, The Fiction Writer and His Country, "Mystery and Manners"
The other afternoon, a man came into the bookshop looking for some recommendations for contemporary American authors. My colleague admitted that she's never all that aware of a writer's nationality when she reads, whereas I feel that I have always been overly conscious of this detail. (Unfortunately, my recreational though involuntary obsession did nothing to aid me in fulfilling his request. I find my wanderlust continually punishable in these ways.) For me, where they are writing from and under what context (as a native, an exile, an expatriate, etc.) really shapes the narrative voice.
Take "Lolita" -- though brief, H.H.'s flashbacks spoke as much, if not more, to me about the growth of his character as did his commentary on the landscapes of mid-America. This could have been a little forced on my part due to the fact that I wanted a French* novel to accompany my Parisian jaunt (and by choosing Nabokov over Balzac or Flaubert I certainly had my work cut out for me). But as an American living in Paris, I was granted a certain privilege in being disclosed the thoughts of a Frenchman living la vie sauvage in my home country.
*A relatively loose and highly-debatable adjective.
