/lit/ - Literature

>>17980671
Might be projecting a bit here, but given the amount of young men looking for purpose in life here, stuff like Stoner and Storm of Steel feel like quintessential /lit/ books to me. Certainly books that pop up a lot here and I personally enjoyed quite a bit.

>>17969269
It made me realize how incredibly fucking cringe I am.
I'm rethinking it all because of how shit this was. I wish I had done something else instead of reading this shit.
I grew to dislike all politics and now all media so much now. Thank you Isayama. I think I'll just go to an onsen too and stay there until I die to make up for my cringe.

>I am in here.
What did he mean by this?

When's his next book?

>school library closed because George Bush died

Was he describing the new counter, is it why /lit/ likes him? It's why I like him.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AkQHCLn-1xk

Does anyone have a synopsis pasta with a quick analysis on Infinite Jest so I don't have to read it?

Was he even sincere?

>>10051504
>... compared with David Foster Wallace

Means that even for a fat fuck spears shaker, DFW is still the most overrated suicidal cuck.

>>9990606
David was right all along

>no one has posted dfw yet

Is this the logical conclusion to literature?

https://broadly.vice.com/en_us/article/bjxdkz/two-women-hell-bent-on-destroying-infinite-jest-in-bizarre-ways-join-forces

He was bold, edgy, and unpredictable. It was like a meteor hitting landing on the bottom of the ocean, creating a large literary wave of brilliance that was felt by everyone intelligent enough to understand his message. He redefined what it meant to be a writer. Not only was his style verbose, it was also deep. Every word - and I mean EVERY WORD - was there for a reason, making the reader feel a certain je ne sais quoi. I'd put him right up there with Faulkner, Joyce, and Tolstoy.

Seriously, the man was on another level. I can't believe he killed himself. Why did he do that? He had so much more to offer the world, like a 1000 page epic about the modern day political climate. Imagine what Wallace could've done with the craziness that has enveloped politics in 2017... it would have been insane.

Wallace had it all, really. He was smart, witty, experienced, and most of all, highly observant. The way he could make the most banal of situations seem like a once in a lifetime experience is something that will always impress me. How he could take the ordinary and point out the small details that differentiated it from other seemingly ordinary moments.

Wallace loved life, until he realized that life didn't love him back. His story, no, OUR story is one of false promises and misunderstood relations. As sad as it is to say, Wallace never reached his full potential. Sure, he wrote one of the greatest novels in history and cemented himself as one of the all time greats, but he never reached the lengths he could've. We will never get another David Foster Wallace.

Never read any of his shit though haha.

Back in college I would always wear a bandana and round glasses like DFW.

>2011
>junior year
>working in small bookstore
>girl walks in
>looks like the type that doesn't read
>asks for a book recommendation
>pass her a copy of Infinite Jest
>this is an amazing book by an amazing author
>looks at cover
>looks at back
>puts book down
>"It's really pretentious that you're recommending a book you wrote."
>buys nothing and leaves
>mfw

Was he right about sincerity?
I feel like irony and cynicism is leaving me feeling unfulfilled, unwanted, and unhappy.
Are there any philosophers who agree with him?

Has there been any philosophic attempts to theorize about the eradication of what can be considered worthless men, i.e. akin to those who browse /r9k/.
I'd like to read a treatise on how we're supposed to deal with disposable 'men' who contribute nothing and qua their vileness (dumb and can't reproduce, physically and aesthetically inferior) simply cannot be integrated into society because they possess nothing of worth. Or how they are such an affront to basic decency that they pollute i.

i just wanna say... im drunk... and infiinite jest is a good book

I started reading Infinite Jest and lost all hope in becoming a good writer, when there are geniuses like him

Even if I practiced writing 12+ hours a day for years I won't be anywhere near as good as he was at the age of 24

Anyone else with these feels?

Post your three favorite short stories and other anons will judge you based on your selection

>David Foster Wallace - "Incarnations of Burned Children"
>Ernest Hemingway - "The End Of Something"
>Kurt Vonnegut - "Harrison Bergeron"

E Unibus Pluram

>"What exactly does "faith" mean. As in religious faith," "faith in God,"etc.
Isn't it basically crazy to believe in something that there's no proof of? Is there really any difference between what we call faith and some primitive tribe's sacrificing virgins to volcanoes because they believe it'll produce good weather?
How can somebody have faith before he's presented with sufficient reason to have faith?"

>>6554484
>How odd I can have all this inside me and to you it’s just words.

Was New Sincerity a failure? Will anyone remember it existed twenty, fifty, one hundred years from now?

"The next real literary “rebels” in this country might well emerge as some weird bunch of anti-rebels, born oglers who dare somehow to back away from ironic watching, who have the childish gall actually to endorse and instantiate single-entendre principles. Who treat of plain old untrendy human troubles and emotions in U.S. life with reverence and conviction. Who eschew self-consciousness and hip fatigue. These anti-rebels would be outdated, of course, before they even started. Dead on the page. Too sincere. Clearly repressed. Backward, quaint, naive, anachronistic. Maybe that’ll be the point. Maybe that’s why they’ll be the next real rebels. Real rebels, as far as I can see, risk disapproval. The old postmodern insurgents risked the gasp and squeal: shock, disgust, outrage, censorship, accusations of socialism, anarchism, nihilism. Today’s risks are different. The new rebels might be artists willing to risk the yawn, the rolled eyes, the cool smile, the nudged ribs, the parody of gifted ironists, the “Oh how banal.” To risk accusations of sentimentality, melodrama. Of overcredulity. Of softness. Of willingness to be suckered by a world of lurkers and starers who fear gaze and ridicule above imprisonment without law. Who knows."