luka
Well-known member
It's not hard in terms of having long words in it or something but a lot of people struggle with the discursive style. So most don't finish.Yeah, of course. It's not a hard read, just very long. I liked it.
It's not hard in terms of having long words in it or something but a lot of people struggle with the discursive style. So most don't finish.Yeah, of course. It's not a hard read, just very long. I liked it.
Yeah, he's good at that. He makes sex sound sexy without giving you the impression that he's typing with one hand (looking at you, Thomas Pynchon!), which is probably quite tricky to do.The way he understands the world makes sense to me. I even like the way he writes about sex. He's the only writer I could say that of I think.
The incest/estranged family member/murder angle is a bit played out after the fourth book running, but, other than that, thought it was top. The first person perspective with the machine gun stream of consciousness and usual newspaper and report clippings, letters etc was brilliant, Joyce's toolkit put to work on the American underbelly.Ripping through White Jazz at the moment. The text equivalent of a stimulant.
somebody once described Ellroy's writing style as "powerviolence" and that still sounds right to meThe incest/estranged family member/murder angle is a bit played out after the fourth book running, but, other than that, thought it was top. The first person perspective with the machine gun stream of consciousness and usual newspaper and report clippings, letters etc was brilliant, Joyce's toolkit put to work on the American underbelly.
Dudley feels like an incarnation of McCarthy's Judge by the time you've heard about him strangling a baby. The fact he gets completely mangled, somehow survives and the last you hear of him he's still cracking jokes and charming people from his hospital bed sounds about right.
"He says that he will never die.”
Thanks for the CW. Everyone here is a fine, morally upstanding, God-fearing family man, and wants no part in anything sleazy. Perish the thought!...maybe a bit sleazy for sensitive souls...
Thanks for the CW. Everyone here is a fine, morally upstanding, God-fearing family man, and wants no part in anything sleazy. Perish the thought!
So it has recipes as well? Well that sounds fairly wholesome after all.it's also an educational novel in a way - I've learnt a new use for condensed milk...
The mystery of Branson, if there is one, is the quirky way that star worship functions in a repressive microcosm. Maybe because it's compressed into such a small area, Branson is the tightest little cultural sphincter you are likely to find in th United States. There are no shadows in Branson. No whores, no gambling, no drugs, no egregrious drinking. There are, ubiquitously, Family Restaurants serving huge portions of the worst food on the continent; "Frito Pie" is a characteristic menu time. Fried chicken, a dish you'd imagine native to the Ozarks, arrives carbonized, like a mutant pork rind.
What the Branson entertainer projects on state isn't sexiness or eccentricity or extravagance, but ordinariness. Pride in having produced children, in having stayed in the same marriage for many years, in one's own religious fervor, in being as close to some conservative norm as possible, is the acceptable form of overt egotism.
Yeah, it's weird that I've reached my 40s without having read any, so I thought I ought to remedy that.Surely you must be re-reading it, Mr Tea?
I thought as a physicist you'd have read all Feyman's books years ago?
Karl and I had this ritual when we slept together that whoever was providing the bed would play a track, and we'd listen to it before undressing. My early selections included New Order, Felt, The Jam, Nico, Marc Almond and The Jesus and Mary Chain. The opening chords of 'Happy When It Rains' are the most effective sonic foreplay I've yet discovered. Karl played me songs by Nick Cave, Scott Walker, The Pogues, My Bloody Valentine, Husker Du and Kitchens of Distinction. The latter's 'Prize' was his favourite track of all time: a song about a gay couple getting drunk and falling out. The mood escalates from sullen mistrust to bitter rage: So do I get a prize / For remembering his name? The music takes the violence of the last words and drags it down into a whirlpool, tearing at itself, finding release only in exhaustion.