I could fill a book with reasons, and they would all be true, though not true of all. Only one same reason is shared by all of us: we wish to create worlds as real as, but other than the world that is. (FW 81)
Fowles asserts that art is "a human shorthand of knowledge"(A 151) meant to "humanize the whole"(A 214). A novelist of "being," his work has "an inclusiveness rare in today's fiction"(Wolfe 111). Because of this "inclusiveness," the mixture of existentialism, humanism, socialism and postmodernism, it is difficult to label the author. Openly admitting that he believes in "[b]iological elitism"(CL 468) while maintaining that he "hope[s] the Marxist element in this country will grow"(CL 469), Fowles realizes the paradoxical nature of these beliefs and admits that this plurality is an "eternal torment"(PR 51) for him. However, because of this ambiguity, the novels are also quests for Fowles himself. Believing that the dividing line between the "few" and the "many," between "Adam" and "Eve," needs to be dismantled in order for society to progress, Fowles suggests that these constructed obstacles weaken the relationship of the individual and society; maintaining the dividing line leads only to a stagnant society.
Critics vary in their assessments of Fowles's works. Jeff Rackham suggests that Fowles's novels are "undeniably brilliant intrigues, intricately plotted and emotionally tense"(89), whereas Bruce Woodcock argues that Fowles's analysis of male power "remains moral, rather than political"(13-14). A "serious philosophical writer"(Hill 211), Fowles admits that entertainment is a legitimate function of the novel; yet "didactic teaching"(MA 4) seems essential to him. The real strength in John Fowles's writing, however, lies in the nexus of form and content, in its honesty and its conviction. Perhaps Joyce Carol Oates describes him best when she calls him "half scholar and half magus"(qtd. in Wolfe 114).
Fowles's attempts at "enlarging or focusing sensibility [and] changing climates"(RI 114) are evident in his fiction but do not undermine the aesthetics of the works. Rooted firmly in biological elitism, Fowles criticizes society from a Darwinian perspective. Propagating a feminine principle, Fowles says that in "terms of history men have failed; it is time we tried Eve"(PR 60). This essentialist thinking that women contain a "magic" cure to society's evils has been the grounds for many attacks on Fowles and his politics. Nonetheless, he firmly believes in it. More important than his essentialist view is his belief that education is the most important aspect in social development. Such a conviction suggests a possible victory for his socialist theory. That education can be used to lift the masses from calibanity places responsibility, not superiority, on the "few."
Fowles feels that "[c]ommunication through printed symbol requires almost as much effort and 'creativity'--and as much sensitivity--from the recipient as from the sender"(RI 115). The privilege of the "verbal form" is "the cooperation between writer and reader, the one to suggest, the other to make concrete"(HM 94). By allowing a certain amount of freedom to his readers, Fowles forces the reader to question the political issues that are raised in the text. In effect, Fowles is assuming a responsibility to educate his readers. When Carol Barnum asked the author if he wanted the reader to "enter [into his fiction] and to learn something about life," Fowles answered: "Well one hopes for that. One hopes for that"(MF 203). The responsibility of addressing one's own weaknesses, therefore, falls on the reader; he says:
A good novel is a human document, is like an interesting meeting with a stranger; it is not a machine, a thing you don't understand till you have taken it to bits. (W 223)