Thread replies: 18
Thread images: 3
Thread images: 3
Have you ever read a book and thought, "I should have written that"?
>>
Ask your questions better you stupid cunt.
>>
Flann's so fucking godtier.
Try The Third Policeman if you haven't yet, then be disturbed by the fact he wrote it in 1939 and that atomic theory was too new to be published til 1967, when readers would get it.
>>
>>8315813
>he was dead whole time xDDDD
dogshit
>>
>>8315816
>dead
okay not all readers understand atomic theory or conservation of energy yet. nor have heard of the celtic belief that this world is hell. it's okay buddy, i'm sure there's books out there which cater to your needs.
>>
>>8315821
wow u sound like a rel smartie haha
>>
>>8315826
>bumping
glad you like the thread so much, though i'm disappointed you don't have more to say about books or the topic at hand.
>>
>>8315830
I don't read boring shit like Flann. Your thread topic is fucking stupid too.
>>
>>8315845
Not my thread buddy. You seem lost if you're looking for something other than Flann or books you wish you'd written.
>calling Flann boring
come on anon, if you want to troll a Flann thread you're going to have to be a better troll than Flann
>>
>>8315889
I should know better than to talk to some idiot hero-worshipping.
>>
>>8315914
and yet you keep bumping and replying with your butthurt. it's almost precious :3
>>
>>8315800
There are certain books with which I feel an affinity, mostly classics and such. Thoreau reads like my inner voice sounds; I was spellbound by The Recognitions and JR; Moby Dick and Don Quixote are immersive experiences and I reread them every year.
Relevant to your question though, I wish I could write like Joan Didion in Miami. Just the pervasive sense of dread and corruption unflinchingly reported through a lens of biting sarcasm, black humor and apocalyptic wit.
>>
>>8315889
I actually found some of At Swim-Two-Birds pretty boring- those long mythological passages.
Third Policeman was excellent though.
>>
>>8315800
You bet your arse.
Fifty Shades is the biggest one.
God damnit, I could've been rich.
>>
>>8316080
They're meant to be messed up; it's a continuation of the thing they're doing with misquoting Catullus in the bar. Similarly, the pint of plain poem Flann originally wrote for a worst poem contest in a university literary society. You'll get a lot more out of it if you've read the stuff he's making fun of but it's a bit of a commitment for some of the Irish parts; Kinsella's translation of the Tain should get you most of it. A lot of the Irish words for things that Finn uses are supposed to sound like dementia, so when he's listing creatures and other things for Irish speaking readers it's clear he's making things up and confabulating.
>>
>I'll tell you what's hard, too, said Shanahan, a bad knee. They say a bad knee is worse than no knee at all. A bad knee and an early grave.
>Water on the knee do you mean?
>Yes, water on the knee is a bad man, I believe. So I'm told. But you can have a bad cap too, a split knee. Believe me that's no joke. A split knee-cap.
>Where are you if you are gone in the two knees? asked Furriskey.
>I knew a man and it's not long ago since he died, Bartley Madigan, said Shanahan. A man by the name of Bartley Madigan. A right decent skin too. You never heard a bad word about Bartley.
>I knew a Peter Madigan once, said Mrs. Furriskey, a tall well-built man from down the country. That was about ten years ago.
>Well Bartley got a crack of a door-knob in the knee...
>Eh! Well dear knows that's the queer place to get the knob of a door. By God he must have been a bruiser. A door-knob! - Oh, come here now. How high was he?
>It's a question I am always asked, ladies and gentlemen, and it's a question I can never answer. But what my poor Bartley got was a blow on the crown of the cap... They tell me there was trickery going on, trickery of one kind or another. Did I tell you the scene is laid in a public-house?
>You did not, said Lamont.
>Well what happened, asked Furriskey.
>I'll tell you what happened. When my hard Bartley got the crack, he didn't let on he was hurt at all. Not a word out of him. On the way home in the tram he complained of a pain. The same night he was given up for dead.
>For goodness sake!
>Not a word of a lie, gentlemen. But Bartley had a kick in his foot still. A game bucko if you like. Be damned but he wouldn't die!
>He wouldn't die?
>Be damned but he wouldn't die. I'll live, says he, I'll live if it kills me, says he. I'll spite the lot of ye. And live he did. He lived for twenty years.
>Is that a fact?
>He lived for twenty years and he spent the twenty years on the flat of his back in bed. He was paralysed from the knee up. That's a quare one.
>He was better dead, said Furriskey, stern in the certainty of his statement.
>>
File: 1401287302393.png (1MB, 780x1198px) Image search:
[Google]
1MB, 780x1198px
>>8315800
>Have you ever read a book and thought, "I should have written that"?
Thread posts: 18
Thread images: 3
Thread images: 3