Archived threads in /lit/ - Literature - 1246. page

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I used to think I was an intelligent person, until I encountered philosophy.
It made me realise that I am, in fact, a brainlet who knows very little about anything

So, how do I into philosophy??

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Is it worth reading?

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ITT: good feminist /lit/

no libfem, no butler, no transfeminism allowed

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Are there any books that discuss how it is impossible to know whether or not a political aim will be as effective as you imagine it to be before it is put in place?

For example, aiming for a particular change in the prison system that has never been tried before to reduce repeat offenders but when it is put in place your change is found to have had the opposite effect.

I think a lot could be said on this topic so someone surely has wrote about it, right?

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>literally every single great genius in literature and in music was religious, without fail

What did God mean by this?

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Just finished reading this.

What are other books that feature horrifyingly disfigured characters?

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Just read Industrial Society and Its Future, and everything in it seems spot on. Have I cook my brain am I just an idiot?
Can anyone recommend books that are a good counter argument to the ideas presented in it?

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>dude whores
>and more whores
>and foreign whores
>and whores with dicks
>i fucking hate technology lmao

Is really what this "writer" amounts to?

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what did annas dream have to do with her death? The peasant working the iron...the book lit by the candle of her life?

what does it all mean? I'm having trouble understanding. Sparknotes seems really off to me, though I can't really articulate what I think of it all.

>Anna’s death scene is justifiably considered one of the greatest of Tolstoy’s achievements in the novel, and in Russian literature as a whole. Her suicide is not merely the end of her life but also its summation: she acts independently and alone, and she seeks to escape the falsity of the people around her, just as she did in life. Yet Anna is not a diva in death, any more than she was in life. She does not pity herself or appeal to the sympathy of the crowd; she does not care about what other people think of her. Anna does not fancy herself superior to anyone but rather includes herself in the group of people that she wishes to get rid of—she escapes not just the world but Anna Karenina as well. Tolstoy’s portrayal of Anna’s final minutes is filled not with the wrath and vengeance that the novel’s epigraph foretells but rather with great tenderness. His description of Anna’s life as a candle being illuminated and then snuffed out forever equates her life with light and truth. Tolstoy pays a quiet tribute to this character of whom he disapproves but whom he loves nonetheless.

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Is our guy the GOAT??
>The fifty-six-year-old American poet, a Nobel Laureate, a poet known in American literary circles as ‘the poet’s poet’ or sometimes simply ‘the Poet,’ lay outside on the deck, bare-chested, moderately overweight, in a partially reclined deck chair, in the sun, reading, half supine, moderately but not severely overweight, winner of two National Book Awards, a National Book Critics Circle Award, a Lamont Prize, two grants from the National Endowment for the Arts, a Prix de Rome, a Lannan Foundation Fellowship, a MacDowell Medal, and a Mildred and Harold Strauss Living Award from the American Academy and Institute of Arts and Letters, a president emeritus of PEN, a poet two separate American generations have hailed as the voice of their generation, now fifty-six, lying in an unwet XL Speedo-brand swimsuit in an incrementally reclinable canvas deck chair on the tile deck beside the home’s pool, a poet who was among the first ten Americans to receive a ‘Genius Grant’ from the prestigious John D. and Catherine T. MacArthur Foundation, one of only three American recipients of the Nobel Prize for Literature now living, 5'8'', 181 lbs., brown/brown, hairline unevenly recessed because of the inconsistent acceptance/rejection of various Hair Augmentation Systems– brand transplants, he sat, or lay—or perhaps most accurately just ‘reclined’—in a black Speedo swimsuit by the home’s kidney-shaped pool, 1 on the pool’s tile deck, in a portable deck chair whose back was now reclined four clicks to an angle of 35° w/r/t the deck’s mosaic tile, at 10:20 A.M. on 15 May 1995, the fourth most anthologized poet in the history of American belles lettres, near an umbrella but not in the actual shade of the umbrella, reading Newsweek magazine, 2 using the modest swell of his abdomen as an angled support for the magazine, also wearing thongs, one hand behind his head, the other hand out to the side and trailing on the dun-and-ochre filigree of the deck’s expensive Spanish ceramic tile, occasionally wetting a finger to turn the page, wearing prescription sunglasses whose lenses were chemically treated to darken in fractional proportion to the luminous intensity of the light to which they were exposed, wearing on the trailing hand a wristwatch of middling quality and expense, simulated-rubber thongs on his feet, legs crossed at the ankle and knees slightly spread, the sky cloudless and brightening as the morning’s sun moved up and right, wetting a finger not with saliva or perspiration but with the condensation on the slender frosted glass of iced tea that rested now just on the border of his body’s shadow to the chair’s upper left and would have to be moved to remain in that cool shadow, tracing a finger idly down the glass’s side before bringing the moist finger idly up to the page,
Continued on next post. This sentence is too good for the chan.

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Meme book thread. I'll start.

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What is your favourite Bible passage?

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>the only word he can think of to describe a book is "comfy"

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This first two books were banal and boring, the third one was o.k. Is this worth continue reading? Is Rand still going to be a little bitch about being the Dragon Reborn?

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I'm reading Americanah as part of the NY book club. This is a (barely) above-average book by an average author that isn't clever or insightful. These were the options.

>Between the World and Me by Ta-Nehisi Coates
>The Sellout by Paul Beatty
>Americanah by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie >A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith
>The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot Diaz

New York sucks and any modern book like this sucks (preachy, flat characters, too clever by nothing, lacking passion or wit or at least an interesting gimmick). What else should I avoid? Any good alternatives?