"They rode out along the fenceline and across the open pasture-land. The leather creaked in the morning cold. They pushed the horses into a lope. The light fell away behind them. They rode out on where they slowed the horses to a walk and the stars swarmed around them out of the blackness. They heard somewhere in that tenantless night a bell that tolled and ceased where no bell was and on the round dais of the earth which alone was dark and no light to it and which carried their figures and bore them up into the swimming stars so that they rode not under but among them and they rode jaunty and circumspect, like young thieves in a glowing orchard, loosely jacketed against the cold and ten thousand worlds for the choosing."
If that's not evidence enough look up Jonathan Safran Foer, Mark Z. Danielewski or Chuck Palahnuik or for some older but still "not quite classic" stuff look up Carson McCullers, John Updike, Joyce Carol Oates, or Alice Walker, or Gabriel Garcia Marquez.