Archived threads in /lit/ - Literature - 3746. page

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The Japanese read horror during the summer because it "gives them the chills" and helps cool them off accordingly.

Time to scare the bejeezus out of ourselves.

Post more holy-living-christ-what-was-that-noise-I'm-sleeping-with-the-lights-on-forever-tier horror novels.

Pic Related.

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Hey /lit/, I'm looking for non-fic with god-tier prose, interested in any subject I guess. One example of this would be James Agee's Let Us Now Praise Famous Men. Not really interested in memoirs (it's mostly whiny middle-aged women), but if the prose is absolutely top-notch (as in Nabokov's Speak, Memory) then I'll accept it.

We could also turn this into a non-fic sharethread, if anyone's interested.

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Just writing this in the post box, tell me what you think of it
Snow-Balls have flown their Arcs, starr'd the Sides of Outbuildings, as of Cousins, carried Hats away into the brisk Wind off Delaware,- the Sleds re brought in and their Runners carefully dried and greased, shoes deposited in the back Hall, a stocking'd-foot Descent made upon the great Kitchen, in a purposeful Dither since Morning, punctuated by the ringing Lids of various Boilers and Stewing-Pots, fragrant with Pie-Spices, peel'd Fruits, Suet, heated Sugar,- the Children, having all upon the Fly, among rhythmic slaps of Batter and Spoon, coax 'd and stolen what they might, proceed, as upon each afternoon all this snowy Advent, to a comfortable Room at the rear of the House, years since given over to their carefree Assaults.

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Was he a overrated hack or was he legit a litterary genius?

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tfw satan is real and has altered the word of god...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?time_continue=111&v=jfM4ZX-xO_M

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Submissions thread.

Where have you submitted?

Anything accepted?

Anything rejected?

How did your rejection letters go? Any personal ones and not form rejections?

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:(

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Thinking about finally getting an e-reader

Everyone keeps suggesting I get the Kindle Paperwhite

Does /lit/ agree?

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splortersplax et en deau. fenderways oer yonder bast blexis and bejoy. attaway lies gold and silver. unto ferrowinds and red you traxk, fleur weighting upon yew. luvibration sleeps low betwixt synapse and skin.

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>My name is Recktall Brown.
Did I get memed, and why do I like this?

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what's a truly disturbing book? I don't mean like some gore fest, or just saying things in a way that's designed to evoke disgust. I mean like kafka, a book that makes you face a reality you may not enjoy, except I am looking for a book that says things that are so difficult to handle, it may leave you feeling very depressed.

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Is this a decent version of the Arthurian legend?

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Thoughts on how to make this less edgy/better in general?

Hiro stood ankle-deep in the reddish-brown mud, cold rain pouring down on his lowered head. He wiped his sword off on his already soaked and dirty sleeve before returning it to its sheath. Any more fighting would be pointless. He had heard that Lord Imagawa had already been slain, and he could see his remaining forces scattering into the surrounding forest.

So this was war. Hiro had seen death before; a lot of it, but never to this extent. Victory had been so certain, but the Oda had swept in from the forest like demons, destroying all opposition in what seemed like mere moments. With the Matsudaira at the mercy of Nobunaga, what would this mean for him, or his entire clan?

This, and many other thoughts raced through his mind as he took a final glance in the direction of the fallen Imagawa camp. With that, he turned around and disappeared into the trees.

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Anon posted this earlier in a general >>8078729. Any suggestions on which one to start with? Which one is the best?

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Isn't it wonderful?

>Wild eyes were another sign. It is something I have seldom seen — the expression of an ecstatic state — though much is foolishly written of them, as if they grew like Jerusalem artichokes along the road. The eyes are black, right enough, whatever their normal color is; they are black because their perception is condensed to a coal, because the touch and taste and perfume of the lover, the outcry of a dirty word, a welcome river, have been reduced in the heat of passion to a black ash, and this unburnt residue of oxidation, this calyx, replaces the pupil so it no longer receives but sends, and every hair is on end, though perhaps only outspread on a pillow, and the nostrils are flared, mouth agape, cheeks sucked so the whole face seems as squeezed as a juiced fruit; I know, for once Lou went into that wildness while we were absorbing one another, trying to kiss, not merely forcefully, not the skull of our skeleton, but the skull and all the bones on which the essential self is hung, kiss so the shape of the soul is stirred too, that's what is called the ultimate French, the furtherest fuck, when a cock makes a concept cry out and climax; I know, for more than once, though not often, I shuddered into that other region, when a mouth drew me through its generosity into the realm of unravel, and every sensation lay extended as a lake, every tie was loosed, and the glue of things dissolved. I knew I wore the wild look then. The greatest gift you can give another human being is to let them warm you till, in passing beyond pleasure, your defenses fall, your ego surrenders, its structure melts, its towers topple, lies, fancies, vanities, blow away in no wind, and you return, not to the clay you came from — the unfired vessel — but to the original moment of inspiration, when you were the unabbreviated breath of God.