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/lit/ is for the discussion of literature, specifically books (fiction & non-fiction), short stories, poetry, creative writing, etc. If you want to discuss history, religion, or the humanities, go to /his/. If you want to discuss politics, go to /pol/. Philosophical discussion can go on either /lit/ or /his/, but ideally those discussions of philosophy that take place on /lit/ should be based around specific philosophical works to which posters can refer.

Check the wiki, the catalog, and the archive before asking for advice or recommendations, and please refrain from starting new threads for questions that can be answered by a search engine.

/lit/ is a slow board! Please take the time to read what others have written, and try to make thoughtful, well-written posts of your own. Bump replies are not necessary.

Looking for books online? Check here:
Guide to #bookz
Recommended Literature

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Cop a squat and show us your stuff

And remember to always critique others if you wish to be critiqued.
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Eh, I felt "honey" is a realistic thing to say for the relationship and scene between them, but hey, my opinion.

Anyway thanks again anon if you be the first critquer, this is a good sign I'm working on the right stuff for now! And I hope it'll be someone's favourite too someday!

Thanks again!
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Alt-history story I'm working on for /his/ and /k/, feel free to give your $0.02

A fearful voice weakly called out, begging and crying and pleading most piteously. Although the words were almost completely unintelligible, it was unmistakably a plea for mercy. Realizing the other occupant of the shed was not the enemy, he lowered his rifle and pushed the hammer back into the safe position. Watkins pulled himself up to the top and took a quick peek down to make sure he hadn’t been followed. Satisfied, he turned around and began approaching the shadowy figure, whispering his countersign, hoping it was a comrade. Either by understanding his words or noticing Watkins’ uniform was too filthy and ragged to be that of the other side, the apparition stopped crying. As Watkins began to approach the two tiny specks that shone like the eyes of a cat in the dark, the moonlight slowly drew back, revealing the unknown form. Watkins couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Was this a hallucination of the imagination? It was neither friend or foe he had stumbled upon, but a girl. Long and unkempt black or brown hair (the lack of light made it impossible to tell), blue eyes, no older than 16. Upon closer inspection, Watkins saw she was wearing a pink flower-patterned dress and barefoot. Her left breast was marked with a yellow six-sided star with the letters J, a pair of O’s, and D stenciled into the center. His attention then fell on her stomach...
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It's swollen to the size of a basketball, at least eight months along. A smaller bump protruded where her naval should’ve been. At last, he comes face to face with her. No longer seeming to fear him, the girl stretched out her hand and offered Watkins to take it. Not knowing what else to do, he obliged and she quietly walked him past the corner to a hiding spot she's put together among the loose piles of hay. Taking a quick look around, Watkins noted that her only possessions were a small diary, fountain pen, pendant and a half-eaten carrot. He took off his knapsack, feeling relief as the weight left his shoulders, unclipped his M1840 from his belt, and put them both alongside his rifle in a nearby corner. The girl took a seat among the haystack, squirming and grunting from the discomfort of her stomach. “That must have been what I noticed” Watkins realized, “the poor gal can’t even find a comfortable way to sleep”. Watkins himself tried to sit down opposite of her but was immediately rewarded with a burning sensation in his back. Suddenly, he remembered he still had an inch-long piece of shrapnel still lodged in his back. It had been there the entire time but the rush and fear that pulsed through him for the past 12 hours had kept him from feeling it. Noticing his discomfort, the girl offered Watkins to sit next to her, where the hay would help cushion his back and prevent that damned twisted piece of steel from digging in any further. Gladly accepting, he moved and sat next to her, quietly whispering “thank you”. After a minute or two of dead silence, Watkins mustered up the courage to point to her and ask her name, hoping she’d understand him. Initially staring in confusion for several seconds, she suddenly had an epiphany and meekly replied
"Anne... Anne Frank”.
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Anne Frank. Probably the first person he had met in this godforsaken country who had a name even remotely pronounceable. Seemingly summing up her own courage, Anne spoke in broken English "what you?" “Corporal Samuel Rush Watkins, 1st Tennessee Infantry, Company H", he was so used to introducing himself formerly to superiors he couldn’t help but include his unit, “nice to meet you”. “Co-pam-ee Ay-tch” Anne repeated, clearly, her proficiency with English was quite limited. “You can call me Sam.” After, a moment of wondering if he should ask, Waktins, hoping to break the tension and hide his own embarrassment, spoke up again in a joking manner "what’s a dear charmer like you doing here in the middle of the night?” Again, using his hands as a visual guide. Seeming to understand the question but not his sorry attempt at humor, Anne whispered "hiding from Duits”.

You are not Milton. Please stop. I was sick by the time I read the third line.

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Dear Atheists:

If God doesn't exist, how come I know he exists?

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That argument actually makes sense through some epistemologies (e.g. Plato's) tho.
Still not defined. Fuck off, STEMsperg.
I think OP is calling himself god
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>how come I know he exists?
You don't. It is self-evident that your signifier exists. The same cannot be said for the signified. Checkmate brainlets.


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Hey, /lit/ i have an odd request.

Lately, I've been thinking on how I can do good in this world and I've come to the conclusion that I want to become like Socrates and help friends, family and strangers to learn how to think and how to realize their inner potentials.
So my question is: how do I achieve this? How do I avoid annoying others? Are there books on pedagogy/philosophy which could help me with this task? (I'm already rereading Plato's complete works so there is that).

Any contribution is appreciated.
there are so many directions to meme at your post from it's not even funny
>how do I achieve this?
Force people to read Plato.
you have to get friends first

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What's a good novel about Christianity (other than Brother's Karamazov)?
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haven't read Greene, but the other two are legit. I'd add:

Paradise Lost (and Regained if you have the time)
Pilgrim's Progress (should be required reading)
Christmas Carol (short and easy)
Screwtape Letters
Faust (and Doctor Faustus again if you have time)
Guys I'm talking novels, not epic poems and nonfic, I'm reading those alongside
Umberto Eco's The Name of the Rose
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The Way of the Pilgrim
it's more of a novella, could be nonfic tho.

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Why are reddit's philosophy boards so terrible?

Where else can I talk about philosophy stuff (besides >lesswrong)
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The problem is that /lit/ is half humanities unofficially while /his/ is half humanities in name. So we basically have no real philosophy board.
/his/ took the fall for us, /pol/ newfags don't like reading so will naturally avoid this board if they have the choice
Just checked r/philosophy
Leagues better than any philosophy discussion happening on /lit/ right now.
Man the board split was such a terrible choice.
Anyways. Wasn't askphil alright? I felt they were, most of the answers at least. The questions were terrible.
It's not good, but the lurkers are the worst part.
Then go there, and don't come back

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What is the most beautiful English prose that you have ever read? What is the practice of implementing the beauty of poetry into prose?
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I heard and am hearing still that the first few chapters are great. Certainly am not going to drop it
nvm i found it! read this shit, look me in the dead eyes and TELL ME this not the highest-tier of comfy lit
>We felt very nice and snug, the more so since it was so chilly out of doors; indeed out of bed-clothes too, seeing that there was no fire in the room. The more so, I say, because truly to enjoy bodily warmth, some small part of you must be cold, for there is no quality in this world that is not what it is merely by contrast. Nothing exists in itself. If you flatter yourself that you are all over comfortable, and have been so a long time, then you cannot be said to be comfortable any more. But if the tip of your nose or the crown of your head be slightly chilled, why then, indeed, in the general consciousness you feel delightfully and unmistakably warm. For this reason a sleeping apartment should never be furnished with a fire, which is one of the luxurious discomforts of the rich. For the height of this sort of deliciousness is to have nothing but the blanket between you and your snugness and the cold of the outer air. Then there you lie like the one warm spark in the heart of an arctic crystal.
I don't know if this is pasta, but if I wanted to analyze a piece based off merit, I would start a thread about it. There is meaning and there is beauty, and if you can't appreciate both, then that is unfortunate. This thread isnt about the former- it's about the latter, and if you think that appreciation of style is worthless or entry level, then you don't really care about the different qualities of literature. Substance is important- perhaps the most important- but never think that style isn't. "Prose" isn't superficial.
>I’m a king with a crooked crown, my kingdom is built on lies and what was once my queen is shooting up heroin. Fallen down the rabbit hole and refuses to come back out, living in Wonderland while I cut down her enemies. I’m a white knight in blood soaked armor, trudging through the battlefield that is my brain. Searching for some sort of answers. Battling demon after demon with no one but myself. But the answers I seek are ones locked away by the boy with the golden hair. Hidden for my own protection, for an eternity I search for the sands of time buried in the desert that is my subconscious.

Kind of cheese but I really liked it.
This. Some of the best prose I've ever read in English. I don't feel that compelled to reread him, however. Idk why

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>the only unforgivable sin is to believe that you are beyond redemption
Why does this make me cry lads? Why is Christianity so beautiful?
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I'll post the same answer I gave you on 8ch/christian.

If God wills it, all things are possible for him. But you'd be taking a giant risk because if your conversion is not genuine and your repentance not authentic then you'd just be mumbling empty words.

If you started now then you might have time to cultivate genuine, saving faith that bears good fruit.
But if you leave it to the last moment chances are you won't be prepared, your words won't be authentic, and you'll lose everything. If you don't believe and love God now, why would you believe and love him then??

Remember you can lie to girls and to business partners, you can lie to yourself, but you can't lie to God, he knows you, you can't "scheme" him like you do others.
>being a pedo in heaven
That's not heaven, that's Jannah for the Muslims.
I could never explain to someone how or why I believe, but I know from countless intimations that this is precisely where I need to be.

Still old hags, tel.
>there are no pedophile Christians
You really want to fight the entire Catholic Church? Last time the war lasted for 30 years.

So, /lit/, let's talk honestly, do you feel better intellectually/mentally/physically(?) since you started reading ? Have you seen improvement somewhere in your life ? Did it help with something ? Is reading that good, or it's just a meme ?

i'm trying to get back into reading, to learn asmuch as I can but I'd also like to see if reading helped some people there, I def learned a lot by reading more books
Intellectually, sure. I've been reading since before puberty. My brain is faster than most people's. Physically, no. You need to exercise for that. Reading will definitely help you focus your brain and get it used to doing work, though.

>inb4 he reads for self-improvement
stfu low test cucks
Reading won't magically change your life. You're not gonna wake up as a Chad one day just because you've read Aristotle.
What reading will do however, is give you insight to solve whatever shit you're dealing with. Also you'll be able to understand and make references, and you never know, maybe you'll impress the right person at work or at a party and they'll hook you up with a cushy job or some shit.
>What reading will do however, is give you insight to solve whatever shit you're dealing with. Also you'll be able to understand and make references, and you never know, maybe you'll impress the right person at work or at a party and they'll hook you up with a cushy job or some shit.

Exactly what I wanted to hear/read, thanks anon
Yes, literature/phil/poetry is so much more than just reading. The range of information and experiences you can access are as wide as humanities recorded knowledge. To not read is to tune out from the collected thoughts of human history and it's greatest thinkers.
Whether or not this can help you should be obvious, and it honestly transcends what sounds like vain a desire given the scope of it all

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Be nice — or else.

Previous thread: >>10145867

Today's Reading:

Wolfsheim's Pastebin:

Today is St. Luke the Evangelist's feast day.
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Well, I am officially Christcucked now. Hung out with an ex, she tried to kiss me, I stopped her and said, "No. You're married."

Feels bad, man. Sometimes I really don't know how to feel about life. I've honestly fantasized about this situation so much but then when it happened it just made me feel sick.

Missed confession cause I was in bed feeling sick. Hopefully I can make it to mass tomorrow though.
>a good video
Read about it
You've become a decent, virtuous person. What a fucking tragedy!
Thank you. I do think I made the right decision. It just ate me up inside and I didn't really know who to tell. Sorry for the blogpost.
Lol, I'm a convert too and I wasn't happy when I started believing too. In fact I wrote pages and pages trying to convince myself it wasn't true. I'm pretty sure C.S. Lewis had the same experience. Almost a year later and I'm not regretting it in the least.

Pic not related

I had an idea for a writing project. I was thinking that if I gathered a bunch of people we could write the longest work of fiction ever. It takes years to write a story like the Space Emissaries World Conquest and Worm but if a bunch of writers work together on a project we might be able to write something up to ten million words long. Maybe even longer.

If anyone is interested in this idea I can make a discord or something to discuss it. I want it to be a fun project and not a very serious matter, just a fun little thing to make some new friends and have fun with.

Also, long works of fiction thread.
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I thought that The Space Emissaries World Conquest was the longest but Realms of the Unreal is probably longer. Space Emissaries World Conquest is four million words long. I think a single spaced size 11 font is about a thousand words so 15,000 × 1000 is fifteen million words approximately.
Google for his paintings too, they are really good, I am sure they took time too
I've seen them. Just beautiful.
So how much do you write? How good of a writer are you?
I spend a good amount of time studying storytelling and I've wrote a few things. I'm not the best writer but I'm better than the average fanfiction writer.

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Why are most of the men who like Hemingway so desperate to be "manly"?
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Because not everyone is utterly consumed by self interest? But yearly go ahead and support Communism. I'm sure you won't be among the first up against the wall, and you'll enjoy the joy of not being considered a loser by everyone, you fucking faggot.
>I'm trying to get away from being just an act of masculine to being masculine

Literally the least masculine thing you could do. Just be your fucking self and be okay with it. Try to be the best person you can. Don't worry about "being masculine", you fucking dipshit dork.
Being undiluted masculine, having nothing but masculine energy, is almost certainly a bad thing. Most people do not want that. They want a lot of what they are, but a bit of the other.

Hemingway was more like a caricature of masculinity in some ways.
It strikes me that Hemingway cooperated with journalists to sell his image -- which helped to sell a lot of books, and a lot of magazines and newspapers, too.

He criticized Faulkner for selling his writing talent - for writing screenplays. But Faulkner never really sold himself - never gave as much of himself - to journalists as Hemingway did. Now this was probably because he simply wasn't as charismatic as Hemingway. But whatever Faulkner arguably may have lost by writing screenplays (and maybe he didn't lose very much at all from the practice), Hemingway probably lost as much or more by willingly selling his persona -- which certainly made him famous and rich, but I think cost him a great deal in the end, when the man could no longer quite live up to the model of the ever so public and well-known persona.
I've looked at this post for a long time and tried to come up with a way to understand how someone doesn't understand this.
Is it really possible for communists to be this self absorbed and blind? You sound like a child throwing a fit because their mom got their sibling a more expensive birthday present.
Hierarchies are natural and therefore unavoidable. A commonly understood hierarchy provides structure and stability to life, a framework to operate in.
You can spend your whole life complaining about your friend getting more girls than you simply because he is more attractive and charming (also, see the endless feminist think pieces about things like "thin privilege" or other equally obvious natural advantages), but that would have been stupid, it can't be changed, women aren't going to start liking you because you complained about it.
But also, usually the thing or person at the top of the hierarchy also has all the responsibility that goes with that position, especially if it has to do with leading a state, and not everyone wants that responsibility.
I know communists can't really into responsibility, but this is a critical point of why pure communism could never work.

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Is stockhausen the greatest modern example of the ubermensch?
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He is kind of the Joyce of music. Like Finnegans Wake
unlike you i dont just parrot what the critics say
this has to be bait
Ubermensch are people who take risks aren't afriad of death and go for greatness regardless of pain or pleasure.
>Martin Luther
Why is this guy up there?
fine, go ahead and understand your music

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Has there been any worthwhile epic poetry written in the last 100 years?
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forgot to link you too >>10174645
We don't need epic poetry anymore, anon.
Not in epic format anymore, but originally it was:
>released ~1992
It's connected with the epics, the Book of the Silver Bough is The Book of Apollos Followers, Hurmanatar is the Red Hero (Vedas bad guy).


The Anathemata and In Parenthesis.
bump for recs

I'm trying to remember a poem by Asbery. I think in the beginning it mentioned going in a passageway behind a bookcase and ended in a movie theatre, maybe. Anyone know the name?
read berryman instead
I do. That's not the point.

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