A Reliable Narrator
In a class of contemporary fiction recently, we found increasingly that one of the key features of every book seemed to be the Unreliable Narrator. You know the kind, the Humbert Humbert in Lolita who rationalises his love for pre-pubescent girls, the psychotic nameless murderer who protests his sanity in Poe's The Tell-Tale Heart, but also in lesser-known U.N. tales, such as Pynchon's "The Crying of Lot 49".
Then we were asked a tough question: In contemporary fiction, can there ever be such thing as a Reliable Narrator?
Therefore, I'm throwing down the challenge: Can anyone come up with a piece of prose or narrative poetry in which the narrator cannot be termed Unreliable?
Answers on a postcard!
The All New Pepsoid the Second!