Paul West asserts that dialogue in fiction is for the eye, a way of offering the reader a bit of a rest now and then, and little more. I’ve been accused eschewing dialogue in my own work. But such readers might want to reconsider: could be all my work is composed of a dialogue, with the possible exception of what’s presented between quotation marks.
Dialog is there to extend our endless fascination/horror with ourselves as a species. Eavesdropping satisfies something that is deep seated in the human intellect.