Archived threads in /lit/ - Literature - 2508. page

300 readings of Plato.

>>8730934
shit, I guess I have 297 readings of Plato to go.

>>8730927
Fichte, Schelling, Heraclitus, Aristotle's Organon.

Look here for Hegel to see what to read:
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1y8_RRaZW5X3xwztjZ4p0XeRplqebYwpmuNNpaN_TkgM/mobilebasic?pli=1

I really wish she would die
Literal sub human

>>8730926
Reminder that she is only 24

>>8730926
bro I'll delete my whole fuckin life

>>8730864
>those with a slave mentality...act like those with a slave mentality
shocking

>>8730864
By not limiting oneself by choosing between one out of two masters of suspicion.

>>8730900
>*hoosing one out of two
derp

>>8730839
bump i guess

There's too much to read to even consider reading something like this.

>>8731012
fair enough

>>8730815
I recommend reading more than solely left-wing political and economic literature, which is basically what you've got. Nothing wrong with it, because the majority of what I have is like your collection (I've read eight Chomsky books, plus all the other thinkers), but I also make an effort to read liberal and conservative stuff like Leo Strauss, Karl Popper, Fukuyama, Keynes, Thomas Sowell, etc. Sorry if you weren't looking for feedback.

>>8730815
reading commie trash ayy lmao

>>8731106
>Fukuyama

Is End of History worth reading?

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>>8730792

>at the library you drop off your latest checkout into the book return when suddenly you hear muffled swearing in french "Ah mec, quic quic, get een 'ere!"
>a powerful hand yoinks you by the collar through the return slot, and after wondering how on earth you could have fit through such a tiny opening, you find yourself in a dirty den lit by dim candlelight, surrounded by giant piles of social critique compendiums and BDSM magazines
>before you is none other than Michel Foucault, perfectly preserved. He hands you a stack of pages, assembled entirely découpé from returned books. "Zer eesn't mosh time, zis is my magnus opus, je have worked ze last 10 years on eet and je need an editor."
>You start reading the messily pasted pages of Foucault's final, contemporary work.

what's inside?

>american covers

ugh... anyway, those books are valueless outside of the foucault world, which is shown by how he changed the orientation of the trilogy after the reception of the 1st book. he was too intentional about it and this misguided him into trying to be too deep instead of sticking to what he did best, namely his early and mid stuff.

read on the taoist view on sexuality instead.

foucault is garbage

>>8730583

no next

>>8730583
Yes, my husbands daughter loves to have sex with icebergs

>>8730664
> with icebergs
>(jews in the ice business)

>no mentions of Hillary as a certified liar

Truly post-truth.

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>normal fags just catching up

>>8730524
Humanities confirmed to have caused Trump. Great job comrades!

how so?

>>8730523
Pic related.

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>>8730506
>preaches will to power, self-mastery as an end in itself, elitism
>bed-ridden incel in real life

>>8730461
Just read Infinite Jest, the rest are obsolete

>>8730468
Gotcha, thanks for the advice

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>>8730461
There are many memes, or, as you call it, guides, here in /lit/.

One of the is the 'Start with the greeks', which is basically a guide to read the greek classics, which is not a bad idea.

Another good one is the /lit/'s top 100 books.

If you just want to read the classics without any particular reason except to 'know' them, I would recommend you browse the /lit/'s top 100 and look up some books, read what you find interesting. Do the same if you want to read the greek classics, look up what you find interesting and read them.

here is the top 100, also, if you want particular guides, you can find it looking up "imgur lit charts", they have lots of specific charts, like african literature, japanese, occultism, etc

Part 1

Imagine this.

The barefooted drummer beating a folded newspaper with whisked brooms in lieu of a drum; stirs the eyes ear, like a blast of brasses on a midnight street.

He thought to himself; “now there’s a sentence!”. You could look at it forever, and hear it for even longer.

All you would do all your life, is move from word to word – from sound to sound, from rhyme to rhyme, street to street, eye to eye, time to time.

And still, it would never wear out.

Never fall from grace.

Never die. And here’s another one! Imagine writing this: “His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead”. He often imagined what it would be like to write such a sentence, to end up in such a place, such a center of concentration.

Such a level of precision. To not so much as to create a new world as a very special and alert awareness of one.To follow in the damned dandy dreamed footsteps of Ralph Emerson or James Joyce.

Tuning, playing language to a lyric pitch without being flung into a fit of imitation.

To understand what it is to be invisible.

To fly.

To stretch your wings.

To spin a masterpiece from thin air.

To find a vacant seat, on a crowded bus.

At night, just after twelve, when he sensed that most of the people he lived near who he never saw were asleep, and deeply lost; in many way not human. When the house is quiet, and the world is calm, he thought about writing the first sentence.

How did he decide what that first sentence was going to be, work out the nature of the very first incision?

What was it going to be about?

Would it be all his own work?

Was he going to explain something in his own words?

It’s a long story, and really, to cut a long story short; the story hasn’t ended yet

He had spent some time possibly even years working out what the best time of day was, to write the sort of sentence that would be the very best sentence he had ever written.

He was always searching for that perfect sentence.

Eventually it became clear after all his research, that the best time of day, was at night; just after 12, at a quiet place, away from others. When he sensed how words were like ghosts, and every word was a haunting.

A stunning culmination of an uncanny process that had begun millions of years ago; millions of tears ago.

A process that had turned noise into meaning. That made sense of the drama of life.

Of the relationships between names, and essence.

>Ralph Emerson

>>8730446
Will listen later, I'm in debate practice

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Yes it can, and yes they do

They got Rimbaud and Baudelaire what else do you fucking want?

they were busy preparing a political system that will dominate the world.

but hey, they did catch up after that was done. and did it like a true boss.

>>8730322

It matters if you're a casual reader. When you want to go more in depth you don't just let the prose wash over you and form actually begins to matter more than plot.

>>8730329
So you believe narrative is irrelevant to a novel while the prettiness of prose is meant to be somehow less superficial?

>>8730347
Shakespeare solved the "narrative" problem so yes

>>8730273
Book Reviews, this place, and oxfordbibliographies

>>8730273

No idea. I've only started reading fiction really.

I have these books lined up:
Kafka on the Shore (Haruki Murakami)
Chronicle of a Death Foretold (Gabriel García Márquez)
Memories of My Melancholy Whore (Gabriel García Márquez)
The Master and Margarita (Mikhail Bulgakov)
At Swim-Two-Birds (Flann O'Brien)

Not sure which to read first, or what to read after. I will find something.

>>8730273
Calibre, tag, backlog.

>>8730259

Your grasp of how to structure a sentence is appallingly bad. For starters, you've written that the "door becom[es] momentarily visible in the sunlight" when I'm pretty sure you intended that to relate to the "small particles of dust"

>The ambient audio from the waiting room synthesized with the noises of traffic and manual labor from outside into a cacophony of power tools and engines of construction vehicles fusing with the air conditioned hum from inside and that constant phone ring common to reception areas

and the less said about this entire sentence the better

apply yourself

Mother refuses. Father looking at her, in the night. A pale girl under a pale shaped moon. Silk o'er a bunch of bones. They have abandoned some others before this here girl. Ragged, barred brothers. It rots, all that grows inside that woman. Hard to see a difference between this here girl and the unsung brothers that came before her.

>>8730288
this reads like you're trying to imitate McCarthy stylistically but couldn't follow through with him substantially. I'm assuming this isn't poetry; it loses itself in the dramatic flair, I don't know what I'm looking at. Poetic abstractions are fine, but don't alienate the reader. There's a lot of information here, I think it would benefit your story to provide some groundwork to smooth out the narrative instead of hiding behind an aesthetic veneer