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Philip Larkin and Fernando Pessoa are very similar both temperamentally as people and as writers.


>adored routine
>barely every left their city and almost never left their country
>led largely sexless lives (though Larkin started rutting often in old age)
>politically conservative
>intensely private
>expressed their sexuality in curious ways (Larkin keeping porn in his office, Pessoa writing letters to young girls wanting to spank them)
>published very little
>obsessed with melancholy and death
>both middle-class with a sincere but distant fondness for the poor

Are there any two writers you can think of who are very similar, despite existing at different times etc?
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One was a genius, the other was a hack though
You forgot:
>wrote poetry
this is silly, you listed biographical anecdotes to imply they are similar as writers
Larkin was rutting like an old goat just a few years out of college. He was hardly a permavirgin like Pessoa.

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> had had
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>had had
where did you actually read this in print

the entire premise of this thread is destroyed, everyone go home
not OP, I can find you many examples in Swann's Way
>where did you actually read this in print
Everywhere. Fucking everywhere. The """"""scholarly"""""" publications of tomorrow will all unironically feature this. t. college English/writing tutor

What is the literary equivalent of morrowind?
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I think you are referring to the Graht - Oaks which are the moving trees/cities of Bosmer. Then there is also the Hist, a telepathic tree that is mentally linked with a caste of argonians and can basically bend their will. the frank nature of drug usage in general is probably a tip off.
plus there are dudes living in big ass mushrooms n shit
Daggerfall is better than Morrowind in areas such as dungeoneering, combat, RPG mechanics but accumulates as a whole lesser than Morrowind. The mass procedural generation and uniformity, especially of NPCs does not create an engaging world, the main appeal of such games. Graphically, far inferior to Morrowind, though the equipment art on the character sheet is good the lack of distinquishment between areas and characters is very bland. In writing, Morrowind is again superior by far. Daggerfall is a better dungeon crawler, but not a better experience or game.
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is is its own equivalent


also Oblivion had the best OST

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Just read this. The prose was beautiful and Kinbote's goonery was great fun but I wonder if I missed something. I've heard it called a masterpiece on here, which is fine. But I feel like I either missed a bunch thematically or there just isn't that much under the hood.
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Of course the true color would concern the parents love for their troubled, perhaps mercifully deceased daughter. An exceptionally private feel, and kept that way. In a way Kinbote runs cover without even realizing it (he is himself an incredibly sad figure, a kind of how-to to entertain oneself given his type of loneliness) and all works out almost too beautifully in this hilarious tale of crushing sadness.
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>art can't interact with other art
Nabokov may have gotten too convoluted with Pale Fire, but I still find it a masterpiece. I read it a few years ago, and the emotional impact of the ending, where Kinbote and his person seem to break down did something for me very few books have been able to do for me since.

Anyway, Kinbote is actually the scholar V. Botkin. Check the Index. Who could have written the index, referring to the "3 principal characters of the work G, K, and S"? Not Kinbote, or not Kinbote-as-Kinbote. but someone beyond. The beyond is V. Botkin himself. Neither Shade nor Kinbote exists, and of course Zembla doesn't exist but that's trite. Kinbote and Shade are both aspects of Botkin's self. After completing the novel, Botkin commits suicide. Hazel Shade is also an aspect of himself. The suicide is supported by Nabokov's own words, and "Kinbote's" reflections on suicide and self-conscious professed similarity to Hazel.

The point of the convolution, in my view, is to make a point about the convolution of EVERY novel. We know we're not reading real events, that the characters aren't real people, it's all just words on paper, but we get emotionally attached and affected anyway.

I think the point of the novel was simultaneously to affect you despite being about "nothing" (everything in the story is made-up, none of it has actually happened, in both senses --- within the novel, and in real life), and be a more cerebral reflection on how novels and stories affect us despite being about "nothing" in the same way.
Kinbote = V. Botkin, mentioned in the index as a Russian emigrant professor

Zembla doesn't exist. zembla = semblance = from the latin similare, simulare, to simulate, a simulation.

Botkin wrote Kinbote's commentary, and perhaps even the poem (the fact that John "Shade" is married to a "Sybil" (=sibyl) seems suspicious). After finishing the novel, he commits suicide --- heavily implied when he says in the end that he hopes God will rid him of the impulse to "follow the fate of the 2 other main characters in this story".

The fact that one person wrote both the poem and the commentary, a person who is neither John Shade nor Kinbote, is supported by the index, where the person who wrote the index refers to "the three main characters being represented by the letters G, K, and S".

The trite realization that Kinbote = exiled king of Zembla is a sort of parody to trick the reader, make them thing they've gotten something deep. The layer behind that is that Botkin created the story and Kinbote is his alter ego; Zembla is a parody of Russia

Both of these are old posts made by me I found on the archive and I was too lazy to retype. If you haven't tried to think much about Pale Fire and want to figure it out yourself, i'd suggest skipping over these. Although looking back on it, I think the entire purpose of the novel is to be interlocking in an indeterminate way -- it could be that Shade made up Kinbote, Kinbote made up Shade, or the other, Russian professor V. Botkin, made up both, or it could just be read on the surface. Pretty damn clever, if you ask me, and while other people think it's cerebral, I thought it was pretty emotional -- Sybil's suicide, John Shade's kind character and death, Kinbote's emotional ending monologue where he clearly suggests that he knows that he is insane on some level/this is all fake, or, from this interpretation, where Botkin breaks through the narration for a second, showing his own suicidal grief obliquely
Interesting but I have a different theory. I think the book was actually written by Vladimir Nabokov

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Why do you hate him?
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He's a Roux de Poux
he's a fat nigger
oh and his writing is shit, but that's just an aside
He's a dum as
he is a very good and unpretentious writer. I can guarantee none of the fucks on this thread have read enough of him to make up their minds. It’s also one of the best writers of pure fiction but it’s easy to discard him as too light for /lit/‘s superior taste wich includes only dense and profound books such as the stranger and catcher in the rye
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He be ok
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Stretching my legs
on the regular
WTF this is the best thread on /lit/ in ages
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Have you found your lifes meaning already /lit/? What is it?

Do you reckon literature can help you discover who you are and what are you here for?

Does life purpose discovery come from sorting yourself out aka. Clean your room, or does it come when you purposely hit rock bottom aka. Accelerated self harm?
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Room cleaners get out reee
>Have you found your lifes meaning already /lit/? What is it?
Yes. To lead a principled and patriotic lifestyle, continue learning, be a good parent and spouse, and enjoy myself to the fullest while not harming those around me.
>Do you reckon literature can help you discover who you are and what are you here for?
Yes. Snow County by Yasunari Kawabata is the best book ever written.
>Does life purpose discovery come from sorting yourself out aka. Clean your room, or does it come when you purposely hit rock bottom aka. Accelerated self harm?
It comes from examining the world around you and developing a set of principles by which you can live your life. Living without principles is hardly living, and this is the state of the average individual. Harming yourself is not helpful. Not taking your depression meds to induce cynicism is not helpful. Take your medications, brush your teeth, do your chores, and pray to your deity if you believe in one. Support your nation if your culture is not savage and disgusting (nation =/= state) and take pride in your identity without succumbing to identity politics. Volunteer at your local food bank and participate in community gardening. Sort your shit out and keep it sorted, then educate yourself and seek education from others. Develop principles and live by them. Don't give in to oikophobia, drug use, or excessive pride in meaningless shit like your race or sexuality.
>Have you found your lifes meaning already /lit/?
I think I might've found it but I don't know if I have the courage to pursue it. And the fact that I likely don't is probably a good sign that it's not actually my purpose.
>Do you reckon literature can help you discover who you are and what are you here for?
Obviously it can help. Who knows if it will though.
>Does life purpose discovery come from sorting yourself out aka. Clean your room, or does it come when you purposely hit rock bottom aka. Accelerated self harm?
None of the above, or all of the above idk. If systems like that help people figure things out for themselves then more power to them but obviously anyone who claims to actually know that is full of shit.

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Read it here:

Or here:

what are you currently reading
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Of Human Bondage
Hyperion by Dan Simmons.
Invisible Man
screenplay: the foundations of screenwriting
The Blade Itself by Joe Abercrombie

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The original name of this book is "Nocturno de Chile", but that doesn't mean "by night in Chile". Apparently, nocturno can mean many things in Spanish, but here it's used as noun, meaning:

a) a vocal or instrumental piece of music, of sweet melody, fit to remember the peaceful feelings of a quiet night.

b) a sentimental serenade.

c) each of the three parts of the matins (nighttime liturgy/prayers that end at dawn), composed of antiphones, psalms, and lessons.

All of them are pretty meaningful, especially the last one, considering the priest characters.

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30% is still a minority and our leftist governments have been leftist in a similar way the democrats in America are leftist.
>yet the older I get the more I think he took the right choices more often than not.
>Murders all musicians, damning a whole generation to grow up on shitty vapid music.
>Fucks with most artists, singlehandedly destroying Chilean culture.
>Destroy the educational system, turns everyone into literal brainlets.
>Allows pasta base dealers to do whatever shit they wanted, now you can't go anywhere without a bunch of junkies trying to mug you.
>2 (two) financial crises that were worse than Allende's

Pinochet literally turned Chile into a niggerhole.
It really was a shit storm.
>It really was a shit storm in the end!
Bolaño, you fucking hack
No, Chilean Nocturne

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The camera comes around 360 degrees behind me and Casey, and when it's behind me we can hear my thoughts, but when it's behind her there's loud noise (or vice versa? as in, the same things happen but at the opposite point for the camera.)

I was walking into the room, my eyes were on her. She was with him, and I didn't know if she didn't know what was happening to me. Was I selfish? Was she all there? White speckled tile, double doors, snacks and TVs.She looked at me but I couldn't see without my glasses- was she interested? U2 whistling in the back as the camera came in.
I moved closer, sat down across from her. She was alone, camera behind me. Buzzing as I drank her face. Camera wheels, behind her. Thoughts exposed, screaming my quiet futile song that fear keeps me from screaming. But she can hear it. She sees me and doesn't care about anything- but she does, she cares about me.

I love her, but that's not enough. I can't live wieghing my happiness against what I think I deserve. I have to snap my life in half and burn both sticks down to ash. Snort the ash and call my grandfather. Tell him thank you for the check he sent me. Who's reading this lol. Maybe you. But I don't care about anyone beyond what happiness for my self I can squeeze out of them. I'm drifting and and melting and it sucks but I think the answer is that life for me won't be easy ever again, but it can be better if i change maybe.

Jumping and feeling the weightlessness. Really, give a second for my question- what makes dreams less real than waking life? Maybe there is a good answer, probably is. Would be nice if there wasn't though, maybe remember dreams better and we could all lucid dream and things like that. Imagination is sort of insanity. It's bumping up against reality. If dreams could be argued to be as real as real life, then we wouldn't be in this life.
But dreams are better than real life. No no that's not even true, remember the box dream? Maybe the coffin dream? Tunnel dream? Burial dream? You know. I guess it would be closer to the truth to say that dreams are more heightened on both ends than life. Life's just boring. Most of it is the footage on the floor after the edit. That's not me saying that (as in, I stole that metaphor), but I like the way it sounds either way.

The lens is turned as the hearts speed up. Burning minds, developing the film that will sustain them when that lens breaks and vision leaves the tunnel. It doesn't have to end. They have to decide to blow the tunnel together, needing degrees and experience, and syncing their minds. Push down on the detonator and admit that this is as good as it's gonna get. But right now until the end, that's not so bad.

Look, there's a room that smells like chemicals and optimism, laced with unfounded fear. It's nothing glamorous, it's an everyday thing.

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You need more focus and your style needs serious fluidity work. It jumps around, but not in a way that's challenging or purposeful, just confusing.

It reads like English isn't your first language + saying things like "what makes dreams less real than waking life?" is too on the nose. Weave these questions into your story implicity, otherwise it all comes across as contrived and lazy.

Stick to critique threads next time and read more.
>mmm some of it feels pretentious
I agree. This is all just spur of (many) moments stuff, and I haven't really edited it to screen out pretension other than not writing something down at all if I thought it was really bad. (though I debated deleting the first half of the dream ramble because I forgot my initial thought three or so words into typing that.)
>what you got on paper with deliberation in mind.
Haven't really tried, especially lately with no school.
I want to though, I want people to notice me.

Yeah, the dream part (especially the beginning, is the very worst part.
not 4 me friend stop using commas

Who are some good poets of color? What was their best piece?
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Will Alexander -- Compression and Purity
Jay Wright -- The Double Invention of Komo
Countee Cullen -- From the Dark Tower
Counter question:
Can someone name me some nog poets from that terrible beat period where all their poetry was really big brain wojak and basically sounded like the 50s version of conscious hip hop?
samuel r delany

Rabindranath Tagore is the only correct answer here.
I was about to post something poltier but you are absolutely correct, Tagore is fucking amazing

The book nearest to you becomes the Bible of a post-apocalyptic civilization. What happens?
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true enlightenment
closest book I have to me is my notebook with incomplete notes on The Phenomenology of Spirit.
nearest proper book to me is The Basic Works of Aristotle.
> They form a democracy and obey the law without question?
>without question
>nearest book talks about the Choctaw culture and a bit of history

No fucking clue desu. The trail of tears becomes like an Exodus story I guess. Haven't read through it, but if it contains some of the Choctaw myths like lightning being two giant birds in the sky and thunder being their eggs rolling around on top of the clouds, then that'd be cool. More entertaining than some old dude with a beard.
The Dialogues of Plato is closest to me. Idk what the effect would be.

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debatably /lit/core funk poetry


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>One forgotten fact remains that the monastery of Saint Daniel in Hadath El Joubbeh in northern Lebanon harbors a rare document of a noblemen family of Karam tracing back Cervantes to an ancient patriarch, Simonus De Karam Cervantos Kfar Chmim, locally thought to be the great-grandfather of the author and a pillar of early Spanish linguistics.

lol wut
was Don Quixote a misunderstood idealist or a retard?

la grande autismo
Care to elaborate?

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