Archived threads in /lit/ - Literature - 800. page
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About to start this.
Anyone else read this?
>>7822338
Stop stalling by posting on /lit/
Read the fucking book then make a thread
>>7822340
I'm finishing the razors edge, chill out.
>>7822338
Yes, plenty of people, in case you're wondering whether it's good, yes it is, now go and read some of it, way healthier than being around here
>Shadow had done three years in prison. He was big enough, and looked don’t-fuck-with-me enough that his biggest problem was killing time. So he kept himself in shape, and taught himself coin tricks, and thought a lot about how much he loved his wife.
Yeah, novels aren't his strong point. His short stories are decent light entertainment though.
shadow was the biggest pit bull in the yard
>>7821877
Oh look, you again. We know gaiman sucks at novels. Get a new thread buddy.
>You will never cuddle Ingeborg Bachmann
>She will never whisper sweet critiques of Heidegger in your ear at night
why bother
because that sounds boring, you queer. I want a bubble butt annoying princess that cooks a mean philly steak omelet and makes me coffee every hour but neither of us will ever be satisfied anon.
ever
I will, actually.
>>7821381
fit pls go.
as a devoted fan of john barth: this is fucking retarded, don't read it
Should I read Giles Goat Boy or The Sot Weed Factor?
>>7821842
You should read both.
Currently reading Chimera, the Dunyazadiad
was GOAT, but I'm not familiar enough with Perseus to get into the Perseid
What do you think of pic related? Is it worth the month or so of reading a single book?
>>7820823
>not a couple of days at most
>he isn't neet
Yeah, I just marathoned the first page and it was okay I think. I didn't really get what was happening, but it might be one of those books with deep lore like ASOIAF. I'll read the next page tomorrow before bed if I have time.
Pick the next book I read.
Really really vaguely tell me what I'm I'm for.
Thanks nigz
>>7820582
sssssssssssssssss
>>7820582
Lol ummmmm the magus. you're in for some shit.
>>7820582
The corrections?
Who's you're favourite poet?
Post him or her and post a poem from them.
I'll start.
Edward Thomas
The forest ended. Glad I was
To feel the light, and hear the hum
Of bees, and smell the drying grass
And the sweet mint, because I had come
To an end of forest, and because
Here was both road and inn, the sum
Of what’s not forest. But ’twas here
They asked me if I did not pass
Yesterday this way? “Not you? Queer.”
“Who then? and slept here?” I felt fear.
I learnt his road and, ere they were
Sure I was I, left the dark wood
Behind, kestrel and woodpecker,
The inn in the sun, the happy mood
When first I tasted sunlight there.
I travelled fast, in hopes I should
Outrun that other. What to do
When caught, I planned not. I pursued
To prove the likeness, and, if true,
To watch until myself I knew.
I tried the inns that evening
Of a long gabled high-street grey,
Of courts and outskirts, travelling
An eager but a weary way,
In vain. He was not there. Nothing
Told me that ever till that day
Had one like me entered those doors,
Save once. That time I dared: “You may
Recall”—but never-foamless shores
Make better friends than those dull boors.
Many and many a day like this
Aimed at the unseen moving goal
And nothing found but remedies
For all desire. These made not whole;
They sowed a new desire, to kiss
Desire’s self beyond control,
Desire of desire. And yet
Life stayed on within my soul.
One night in sheltering from the wet
I quite forgot I could forget.
A customer, then the landlady
Stared at me. With a kind of smile
They hesitated awkwardly:
Their silence gave me time for guile.
Had anyone called there like me,
I asked. It was quite plain the wile
Succeeded. For they poured out all.
And that was naught. Less than a mile
Beyond the inn, I could recall
He was like me in general.
He had pleased them, but I less.
I was more eager than before
To find him out and to confess,
To bore him and to let him bore.
I could not wait: children might guess
I had a purpose, something more
That made an answer indiscreet.
One girl’s caution made me sore,
Too indignant even to greet
That other had we chanced to meet.
I sought then in solitude.
The wind had fallen with the night; as still
The roads lay as the ploughland rude,
Dark and naked, on the hill.
Had there been ever any feud
’Twixt earth and sky, a mighty will
Closed it: the crocketed dark trees,
A dark house, dark impossible
Cloud-towers, one star, one lamp, one peace
Held on an everlasting lease:
And all was earth’s, or all was sky’s;
No difference endured between
The two. A dog barked on a hidden rise;
A marshbird whistled high unseen;
The latest waking blackbird’s cries
Perished upon the silence keen.
The last light filled a narrow firth
Among the clouds. I stood serene,
And with a solemn quiet mirth,
An old inhabitant of earth.
>>7820450
Once the name I gave to hours
Like this was melancholy, when
It was not happiness and powers
Coming like exiles home again,
And weaknesses quitting their bowers,
Smiled and enjoyed, far off from men,
Moments of everlastingness.
And fortunate my search was then
While what I sought, nevertheless,
That I was seeking, I did not guess.
That time was brief: once more at inn
And upon road I sought my man
Till once amid a tap-room’s din
Loudly he asked for me, began
To speak, as if it had been a sin,
Of how I thought and dreamed and ran
After him thus, day after day:
He lived as one under a ban
For this: what had I got to say?
I said nothing, I slipped away.
And now I dare not follow after
Too close. I try to keep in sight,
Dreading his frown and worse his laughter.
I steal out of the wood to light;
I see the swift shoot from the rafter
By the inn door: ere I alight
I wait and hear the starlings wheeze
And nibble like ducks: I wait his flight.
He goes: I follow: no release
Until he ceases. Then I also shall cease.
>>7820450
Donne
Woman’s Constancy.
NOW thou hast loved me one whole day,
To-morrow when thou leavest, what wilt thou say ?
Wilt thou then antedate some new-made vow ?
Or say that now
We are not just those persons which we were ?
Or that oaths made in reverential fear
Of Love, and his wrath, any may forswear ?
Or, as true deaths true marriages untie,
So lovers’ contracts, images of those,
Bind but till sleep, death’s image, them unloose ?
Or, your own end to justify,
For having purposed change and falsehood, you
Can have no way but falsehood to be true ?
Vain lunatic, against these ‘scapes I could
Dispute, and conquer, if I would ;
Which I abstain to do,
For by to-morrow I may think so too.
O Carib Isle!
The tarantula rattling at the lily’s foot
Across the feet of the dead, laid in white sand
Near the coral beach—nor zigzag fiddle crabs
Side-stilting from the path (that shift, subvert
And anagrammatize your name)—No, nothing here
Below the palsy that one eucalyptus lifts
In wrinkled shadows—mourns.
And yet suppose
I count these nacreous frames of tropic death,
Brutal necklaces of shells around each grave
Squared off so carefully. Then
To the white sand I may speak a name, fertile
Albeit in a stranger tongue. Tree names, flower names
Deliberate, gainsay death’s brittle crypt. Meanwhile
The wind that knots itself in one great death—
Coils and withdraws. So syllables want breath.
But where is the Captain of this doubloon isle
Without a turnstile? Who but catchword crabs
Patrols the dry groins of the underbrush?
What man, or What
Is Commissioner of mildew throughout the ambushed senses?
His Carib mathematics web the eyes’ baked lenses!
Under the poinciana, of a noon or afternoon
Let fiery blossoms clot the light, render my ghost
Sieved upward, white and black along the air
Until it meets the blue’s comedian host.
Let not the pilgrim see himself again
For slow evisceration bound like those huge terrapin
Each daybreak on the wharf, their brine-caked eyes;
—Spiked, overturned; such thunder in their strain!
And clenched beaks coughing for the surge again!
Slagged of the hurricane—I, cast within its flow,
Congeal by afternoons here, satin and vacant.
You have given me the shell, Satan,—carbonic amulet
Sere of the sun exploded in the sea.
Finnegans Wake is a mathematical fractal
http://www.openculture.com/2016/03/scientists-discover-that-james-joyces-finnegans-wake-has-an-amazingly-mathematical-multifractal-structure.html
Finnegans Wake is a mess. Finnegans Wake was a big fat mistake.
>>7819574
Rubbish.
>And agus wir ware... Truly attendentes de Finnegans Wake.
Really Joyce? Really???
>Harry Potter and the Sorcer's Stone.pdf
>ctrl+f: Stretched his legs
>1308 results
Wtf
>>7814845
Why are you acting surprised? Just Kidding Rowling is a shit writer.
i never read HP as a kid (parents opposed witchcraft)
Where does it stack up in the world of children's literature?
>>7814875
super average, no significant faults or merits either way.
Now that postmodernism is over, in which "time" are we living? A professor I know told me we're living a new wave of modernism that could be called neo-modernism. What do you think?
We won't know until we're past the era. It's like looking back at something and realizing the change. You can't tell change in the moment.
>>7822557
this chart is so wrong, lmao
>>7822557
Whoever wrote this pic has never read a iota of modernist theory or criticism.
ITT: Shitty literature.
dfw
>>7822032
Validate your point, mister/miss Obvious.
>>7822041
he had no discernible talent
YEARBOOK QUOTES
I need help on that...
not too serious, rather subtle ones
"DAVID FOSTER WALLACE!!!!!!!!"
Don't smile because it's over, cry because it happened.
Has anyone read this book?
>>7821639
Lots of people here have and they didn't like it. I've read selections from it and I have to agree with them.
>>7821639
It's alright. Cool premise, cool world, but it indulges the 80s pop culture thing way too much. The characters are more or less non-entities. Prose is functional, with a few groan-inducing metaphors here and there.
Read it if you have nothing else to do some afternoon, or if you really desperately want to form a dismissive opinion of it.
Literal dogshit.
I'm trying to come up with a word/label/phrase fitting this definition: a place of comfort where a normally anxious person is put at ease - due to being closed away from other people, understanding with confidence their position in space is unknown by others, and having security of mind that there are barricades that prevent surprise visits.
Maybe a word/label/phrase already exists for this, but I don't know it. Help me out here. It may sound like a hugbox, but it's not. This is specific to a location of comfort, and not necessarily against rational thought.
I have an anxiety disorder, and feel most secure when I know people aren't going to surprise me with a visit, other people not knowing where I am, other people not being able to hear or see me, and having barriers in place to stop shocking surprises from outside.
I'm thinking something like 'cave, chamber, celler', something like that. But not necessarily with negative connotations.
Controlled environment (?)
>>7821474
Safe-Space
>>7821486
But it's non-specific to feelings of ease.
Best concentration camp / Holocaust literature?
>>7821337
xD
>>7821337
kill yourself
>>7821326
Ultimately Levi is the 'best' (if there can be such a thing, I'd prefer 'recommended'). An intelligent & incredibly imaginative & eloquent man in horrific circumstances. I also recommend his 'The Drowned & the Saved'.
