Books - What are you reading?

Yes, I think he's brill. Just How Late it Was, How Late, mind.

Paul Auster wishes he had a debt to Beckett. Instead of just a hard-on for him. Sorry, like I said, I have been through the mill with him. Actually, though, yes, MoC is probably the least bad.

Pynchon's an acquired taste right enough. But I do think that Gravity's Rainbow is one of the most important books of the last 50 years, without wanting to sound like a wanker.

Paul Auster's terrible. As is Zadie Smith. Auster in particular is one of those writers that I suspect people like for the wrong reasons. I am unlucky enough to have had to read almost his entire output at one point, for work. It gets much, much worse than NYT, believe me. I don't mind his non-fiction writing, though.

I suppose Roth would fall into your college-circle-jerk thing too; and Coetzee. It is pretty unforgivable.

I read Disgrace a long time ago and wasn't sure I remembered it well enough to include on my shortlist, but otherwise would have put it up. On the strength of Boyhood, I'm going to read more of Coetzee's stuff.

Thanks for the tip about Auster. Saved me more excruciating tedium. Assuming the rest of his output is as boring and averagely-written as NYT, what are the "wrong reasons" that get people to bother?

A lot of modern "literary fiction" comes across like an old boy's / girl's club. Most of the "establishment" can write well (or very well), but the themes they choose to deal with are only of interest to themselves and people with lives near-identical to their own. Our forum about fixed-gear bikes in London shows more interest in the real world than most of the last decade's novels.

Yes, I think he's brill. Just How Late it Was, How Late, mind.

Paul Auster wishes he had a debt to Beckett. Instead of just a hard-on for him. Sorry, like I said, I have been through the mill with him. Actually, though, yes, MoC is probably the least bad.

Pynchon's an acquired taste right enough. But I do think that Gravity's Rainbow is one of the most important books of the last 50 years, without wanting to sound like a wanker.

women are not allowed to mention masturbation on this forum; haven't you learned anything this week?

Thomas Bernhard FTW.

the first time that sentence has ever been written, I'd guess.

women are not allowed to mention masturbation on this forum; haven't you learned anything this week?

fuck me. is it bad i was surprised that plurabelle (although the name should have been a giveaway to be fair) was of the tender gender?

New York Trilogy was appalling, I only manage about 2 of the stories and binned it.

Sympathise, although the last story was the only one worth reading. It's as if he suddenly wakes up and realises that he actually wants to write, instead of going through the unbelievably-contrived motions. Still, you weren't missing much.

I read Disgrace a long time ago and wasn't sure I remembered it well enough to include on my shortlist, but otherwise would have put it up. On the strength of Boyhood, I'm going to read more of Coetzee's stuff.

Thanks for the tip about Auster. Saved me more excruciating tedium. Assuming the rest of his output is as boring and averagely-written as NYT, what are the "wrong reasons" that get people to bother?

A lot of modern "literary fiction" comes across like an old boy's / girl's club. Most of the "establishment" can write well (or very well), but the themes they choose to deal with are only of interest to themselves and people with lives near-identical to their own. Our forum about fixed-gear bikes in London shows more interest in the real world than most of the last decade's novels.

I suppose we shouldn't really turn this into a hate thread, but I totally agree. McEwan/Amis/Barnes etc being the worst offenders. Amis is embarrassing, but I actually find some McEwan properly awful too – Saturday, notably. Oh, God, and Amsterdam. And yet he invariably gets ecstatic reviews…

fuck me. is it bad i was surprised that plurabelle (although the name should have been a giveaway to be fair) was of the tender gender?

Don't worry, you're not alone. I do have a 'male spectrum brain pattern', according to the old Casanova Fingers test.

rocks back and forth autistically

the old Casanova Fingers test.

i would ask but i don't want to do any more online tests today. i've already discovered that i'm overweight and my bike's too small. there's only so much humiliation i can take in one day.

I suppose we shouldn't really turn this into a hate thread, but I totally agree. McEwan/Amis/Barnes etc being the worst offenders. Amis is embarrassing, but I actually find some McEwan properly awful too – Saturday, notably. Oh, God, and Amsterdam. And yet he invariably gets ecstatic reviews…

Amsterdam was unbelievably poor. And that won the Booker.

You're right though, enough hate! :)

Let's go back to Hemingway. I'm torn between A Farewell to Arms and The Sun Also Rises. Think I might re-read them both.

I like this thread. I just ventured out of it and read this:

I swear on my mothers life that a few weeks ago near wimbourne I fulfilled a lifetimes ambition in running a squirrel over.
now, as any trail rider knows these rats are so frequently to be seen darting directly across trails in front of you whilst riding at speed, so, the desire to take one out has been building for a long long time,
im not a malicious person, but these creatures are horrid, greedy, wasteful, noisy, nasty and so squirrely that I have no regrets.
it was a direct both wheel splat, I was so pleased went back to check it was done for and saw it just pathetically crawl into undergrowth.
sorry vegans but it rocked!

I'm going to stay in here for a while.

They are both amazing, you're right. The end of AFTA is just heartbreaking. But overall, I think the writing in TSAR is his best.

Amsterdam was unbelievably poor. And that won the Booker.

You're right though, enough hate! :)

Let's go back to Hemingway. I'm torn between A Farewell to Arms and The Sun Also Rises. Think I might re-read them both.

fiesta is good too. oh wait, is that an alternative title to the sun also rises? checks. yes it is.

i like hemmingway. he liked short sentences. he killed himself. maybe he thought his life was too long. like a bad sentence.

apologies to stephen fry.

Hemingway would have totalled that squirrel too, though, let's face it.

I've always wanted a leather wine sack for day time drinking but I'm far too pasty and civilised to pull it off...

Hemingway's short stories are superb.

He totally lost it in later life though, churning out turgid nonsense like Across the River and Into the Trees.

'So, we went for breakfast, and had a bottle of wine, then we had three more on the way up the hill, and then we got to the bar, and after having four bottles of wine, we started drinking…'

Have you read 'the short and happy life of Francis Mapunder (sp?)', Andy?

Hemingway's short stories are superb.

"For Sale: baby shoes, never worn."

One hot evening in Padua they carried him up onto the roof and he could look out over the top of the town. There were chimney swifts in the sky. After a while it got dark and the searchlights came out. The others went down and took the bottles with them. He and Luz could hear them below on the balcony. Luz sat on the bed. She was cool and fresh in the hot night.
Luz stayed on night duty for three months. They were glad to let her. When they operated on him she prepared him for the operating table; and they had a joke about friend or enema. He went under the anaesthetic holding tight on to himself so he would not blab about anything during the silly, talky time. After he got on crutches he used to take the temperatures so Luz would not have to get up from the bed. There were only a few patients, and they all knew about it. They all liked Luz. As he walked back along the halls he thought of Luz in his bed.
Before he went back to the front they went into the Duomo and prayed. It was dim and quiet, and there were other people praying. They wanted to get married, but there was not enough time for the banns, and neither of them had birth certificates. They felt as though they were married, but they wanted everyone to know about it, and to make it so they could not lose it.
Luz wrote him many letters that he never got until after the armistice. Fifteen came in a bunch to the front and he sorted them by the dates and read them all straight through. They were all about the hospital, and how much she loved him and how it was impossible to get along without him and how terrible it was missing him at night.
After the armistice they agreed he should go home to get a job so they might be married. Luz would not come home until he had a good job and could come to New York to meet her. It was understood he would not drink, and he did not want to see his friends or anyone in the States. Only to get a job and be married. On the train from Padua to Milan they quarreled about her not being willing to come home at once. When they had to say good-bye, in the station at Milan, they kissed good-bye, but were not finished with the quarrel. He felt sick about saying good-bye like that.
He went to America on a boat from Genoa. Luz went back to Pordonone to open a hospital. It was lonely and rainy there, and there was a battalion of arditi quartered in the town. Living in the muddy, rainy town in the winter, the major of the battalion made love to Luz, and she had never known Italians before, and finally wrote to the States that theirs had only been a boy and girl affair. She was sorry, and she knew he would probably not be able to understand, but might some day forgive her, and be grateful to her, and she expected, absolutely unexpectedly, to be married in the spring. She loved him as always, but she realized now it was only a boy and girl love. She hoped he would have a great career, and believed in him absolutely. She knew it was for the best.
The major did not marry her in the spring, or any other time. Luz never got an answer to the letter to Chicago about it. A short time after he contracted gonorrhea from a sales girl in a loop department store while riding in a taxicab through Lincoln Park.

fiesta is good too. oh wait, is that an alternative title to the sun also rises? checks. yes it is.

i like hemmingway. he liked short sentences. he killed himself. maybe he thought his life was too long. like a bad sentence.

apologies to stephen fry.

for whom the bell tolls has to be my Hemmingway favourite but on the whole i think i prefer John Steinbeck when it comes to early to mid 2oth century american writers.

Hemingway influenced Chatwin, our greatest and most eccentric travel writer. There's a bit in one of Chatwin's books (In Patagonia, I think) when he writes something like "Looking at his shelf, I saw he had all the best books".

I quite like the idea that "the best books" exist and that you can quickly scan someone's shelf to check that they've got them. I imagine that there's about nine of them. You probably have to have the right editions, too.

Wrong.

why

Pynchon's an acquired taste right enough. But I do think that Gravity's Rainbow is one of the most important books of the last 50 years, without wanting to sound like a wanker.
maybe you're confusing "important" with "boring, shallow and annoying".

Hemingway's short stories are superb.

He totally lost it in later life though, churning out turgid nonsense like Across the River and Into the Trees.

what about the other epic story of man and fish? other than melville that is.

for whom the bell tolls has to be my Hemmingway favourite but on the whole i think i prefer John Steinbeck when it comes to early to mid 2oth century american writers.

+1

East of Eden is a book I never tire of. I always wished I'd known someone like Samuel Hamilton in real life.

+1

East of Eden is a book I never tire of. I always wished I'd known someone like Samuel Hamilton in real life.

tishmael