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Perelandra does not wear as well as I could have wished...
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A Farewell to Arms.

I wouldn't care about the weather so fucking much if my wife and kid hadn't just kicked it.

Gone with the Wind.

Nothing happened, because Kate ripped down the barrier between reality and the novel just so that she could strangle the main character on page two. That was some good murdering.

100 Years of Solitude.

Ants carried the half-consumed carcass of my incest-begotten baby out into the backyard. How...symbolic.

Song of Solomon

Nine extra years' worth of breast milk can make you FLY.


I took a dump! It was EPIC.

The Heart is a Lonely Hunter

Life sucks. But you can't die. Oh, no, you can't. You just watch as the pettiness and dreariness of corporatized small town America takes your life and talent and vivacity away, slowly, slowly, slowly...and nobody understands.

The Age of Innocence

HAHA sex. What?


A is for Army! R is for Army! M is for Army! Y is for Army!
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What if you were rescued from Hitler by Calvinists? You would be SAD and bitterly alienated from everything and you would get depression about your writing and you would write less and less but be more and more obsessed with its perfection and finally you would have a nervous breakdown. Then you would think about eyes and a narrator you meet periodically in train stations and who observes that you feel insecure in English, just like the owls in the train at the zoo. Time melts and you're left to piece history together.


Jul. 19th, 2009 04:27 am
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Was flipping through the index in Early Greek Political Thought from Homer to the Sophists. Saw "Draco" and immediately thought of leather pants.

...I've never even READ Draco/leather pants fic. This is unfair.


Mar. 15th, 2009 08:35 pm
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They christened him Brandy because he made that noise so often.

If ye all will have it so, let us go on and take the adventures that shall fall to us.

And anyone I catch talking about this young lady will be first beaten to death and then burned alive and after that be kept on bread and water for six weeks. There.

The boy, who had been crying a moment before, burst out laughing and joined them.

He thought of course that they were making it all up and as he was far too stupid to make anything up himself, he did not approve of that.

And when they found she wasn't much good even at that, they got her into Parliament where she lived happily ever after.

Remember that all worlds draw to an end and that noble death is a treasure which no one is too poor to buy.
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I remember George Orwell wrote an essay about how working at an old book shop destroyed the physical pleasure he formerly got from books and exposed him to undisguised insanity. I was looking through the Christianity section of a used book place for any Sayers/GKC/Williams/CSL I had previously not read. Two men in their middle thirties were talking some of the most distracted, pretentious rubbish I've ever heard about occultism.

One of them decided to start a conversation with me over my hat, which I got, ironically, from a man who met me by starting a really weird conversation with me when I was in a bookstore. It went from the hat to Arthurian romance pretty quickly. He told me that it started out as a group of legends about a king who fought the Anglo-Saxon invaders, but then it somehow it ended up in France, but Christopher Marlowe brought it back to English in Le Morte D'Arthur. I thought about outdoing the crazy by telling him that my father wrote no such thing, decided against it, and mentioned Sir Thomas Malory in a roundabout way.

He said he was interested in German things, though, and I gathered he meant German occultism or/and mysticism. I told him I was interested in Chinese history. "And you're still a Christian?" "Yes." I explained that Chinese philosophy had no allure for me because it's misogynistic. He mentioned the Elysian mysteries, gave a rambling account of a Hermann Hesse story that sealed my impression of him as a bit unhinged, and then told me about a German shoemaker who used the language of alchemy to tackle the problem of evil, and evidently influenced later German philosophy.


May. 8th, 2008 02:06 am
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I was over at an unspeakable website and I found this:

MR. HAMMER: I'm totally lost right now in this.

THE COURT: I am lost too, Ms. Cendali.

MR. HAMMER: Can we remember what the response was that is supposed to have been confusing? I
don't remember the context of this any longer.

THE COURT: We have gotten into Narnia and I don't know where we are...

If I got lost in Narnia, I wouldn't worry about being confused. Lawyers are soulless.

HG Wells

Nov. 18th, 2007 11:16 pm
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When I was little, my mom bought me tons of abridged classics for $1 apiece. My favorites were The War of the Worlds; Robinson Crusoe; The Count of Monte Christo; A Journey to the Centre of the Earth; and The Time Machine. Of these, I read The War of the Worlds to shreds. When I started reading the adult versions of books, I went right to Wells. I loved The War of the Worlds and the Time Machine and The Invisible Man. I alternated Wells with Verne, but preferred Wells. I started to realize exactly what Wells was at about the time I read The Island of Dr Moreau, and finally had done with him after reading The First Men in the Moon two years ago.

I figured I would give him another shot when I bought the Food of the Gods. Just finished it a couple nights ago. I disliked it when I was reading it, but have had a couple days to digest it. I can't believe I used to like him! Of course, I liked him for the plots. Now I see the symbolism and petty jabs at humanity and his meaning and...Ugh!

It's kind of a betrayal, considering how important his anonymous narrators were to me in kindergarten and elementary. Nunc te cognovi!
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So instead of doing my homework, I did laundry and read. I finished The Blunt Instrument, my first Heyer detective novel. It was good.

I'm not sure it's brilliant, though. I liked it better than Sayers's The Five Red Herrings (my least favorite Sayers--and, incidentally, the Sayers that holds most consistently with these), but it's still a time puzzle and I like those less.

As soon as they kept dithering between 10:02 and 10:05, I knew whodunit. They should have, too. But it took them another corpse, an extra helping of domestic drama, and an irritatingly small hat of a red herring to figure it out. But there were two characters who saved me from thinking the last three quarters of the book a waste of time (of course; she specializes in comic romance).

I had to keep reminding myself that it wasn't Sayers writing. All the references to the pop psychology and popular scientific understanding of the 1930s are also found in Sayers's writings (and in Lewis's). The characters toss Freud and various other theorists whose works have not survived into history books into everyday conversation like it's nothing. They ramble on about chemicals (Chesterton, the story that included the fakir, Sayers's creepy short story about thyroid deficiencies) and evolution (Problem of Pain, various Chesterton, understood assumption in Sayers and this Heyer) and objectivity (the NICE, Sir Julian Freke, some more Chesterton villains). The clearest example of it in Sayers is The Documents in the Case. I really liked the author and his wife; they're (at least he is, I assume his wife agrees) trying to be oh so modern and scientific. I expect they were, but all the talk about chemicals doesn't ring true now. I guess that is because I know the names of the chemicals--and we don't talk about objectivity now. Also, we talk about different things now. What will novels popular today, with all their talk of assault weapons and global warming, look like in 70 years?

I have been tossing the foolish idea of writing some short detective stories set in modern Beijing (and the detective will be a migrant worker, and the Watson a foreigner, to allow for more movement). I should do my calculus and chemistry homework, fold my laundry, and clean my room.

Book Meme

Jul. 21st, 2006 01:25 am
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List the opening lines of your favorite books.

1. So Peter is really married: I have ordered willow-wreaths for half my acquaintance.
2. Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins.
3. The Butler, recognizing her ladyship's only surviving brother at a glance, as he afterward informed his less percipient subordinates, favored Sir Horace with a low bow, and took it upon himself to say that, my lady, although not at home to less nearly-connected persons, would be happy to see him.
4. About thirty years ago, Miss Maria Ward, of Huntingdon, with only seven thousand pounds, had the good luck to captivate Sir Thomas Bertam, of Mansfield Park, int he country of Northampton, and to be thereby raised to the rank of a baronet's lady, with all the comforts and consequences of an handsome house and large income.
5. Escalus.
6. Come into my cell.
7. I went back to Devon School not long ago, and found it looking oddly newer than it was when I was a student there fifteen years before.
8. I seemed to be standing in a busy queue by the side of a long, mean street.
9. Tripping hither, tripping thither, nobody knows why (or whither) we must sing round about our fairy ring.
10. Midway in our life's journey, I went astray from the straight road and found myself alone in a dark wood.


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