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/lit/ - Literature

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15127591 No.15127591 [Reply] [Original]

Books for someone boiling over with barely repressed rage and resentment? Preferrably about a character with a similar disposition

>> No.15127608

>>15127591
Joker

>> No.15127609

le rouge et le noir

>> No.15129306

>>15127591
his suicide > mishima's suicide

fite me.

>> No.15129342

a therapist

>> No.15129359

>>15129306
who is he?

>> No.15129420

>>15127591
Journey to the End of the Night. It's actually not a very enraged or resentful book, but it's so bitter and bleakly comedic that it made me feel good even when things were so bad. I was in a pretty resentful place when I read it and it made me feel like everything was so absurd. It really pulls laughs out of the darkest places.

>> No.15129428

>>15129359
weinigger

You can search images via google using that little arrow thing after the post number

>> No.15129437

>>15127591

Here are some short stories featuring repressed rage and resentment. Not sure they will actually help someone boiling over with repressed rage and resentment, although many of them have an edge of humour, which might, I suppose.

"Barn-Burning" (William Faulkner).

"The Battler" (Ernest Hemingway).

"An African Story" (Roald Dahl)

"Good Country People" (Flannery O'Connor)

"Pantaloon In Black" (William Faulkner)

"Bicycles, Muscles, Cigarettes" (Raymond Carver)

"Notes On The Pest" (Charles Bukowski)

>> No.15130066
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15130066

>> No.15130138
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15130138

"The Major blundered forward and stepped out on to the balcony. There was only one person there: a man leaning over the balustrade, his face illuminated by the bright pool of glass that lay beneath it. It was Evans. A bottle stood on the stone parapet beside him. He paid no attention to the Major, perhaps had not even heard his footfall, but continued his muttered, gulping commentary on the dazzling scene below. On the whores and whoremasters, the bitches in heat and the lecherous old goats, the cowards and the swine who thought there were so high and mighty, their day would come, the wheel would turn...

The Major grasped him by the frayed collar of his shirt and wrenched him back from the balustrade with a hiss of splitting cloth. He was swaying on his feet and the Major had to hold him up, fingers dug into the stained lapels of his jacket. Sudden anger gripped him. He shook Evans with all his strength; all the growing bitterness of the last hour, of the weeks and months of receding hope, all the tragedy and despair of the years in France exploded in one violent discharge of hatred concentrated on the loosely swaying head in front of him Slowly the pale lids crept down over the tutor's bleary eyes and a tear trickled down to the corner of his mouth.

>> No.15130155

>>15130138

'I hate them! I hate them all!' And he shuddered convulsively, his chin sinking on to his chest. The Major's anger abated suddenly. Evans's knees sagged and the Major had to stagger forward to keep his own balance. It was all he could do to keep from falling. For a long moment he stood there, holding the tutor upright by the lapels. But then, with a sudden access of strength, Evans straightened up and tore himself free, throwing his head and shoulders forward over the parapet. The Major lunged after him, afraid hat he was about to throw himself over. But Evans had begun to vomit copiously, a thick yellow fluid that splattered on the illuminated glass below. Unaware, the black and white gentlemen on the other side of the glass continued to revolve mechanically with the softly flowing silk and taffeta of the lades.

'You're disgusting.' The hand that the Major reached out to grasp Evans by the shoulder and help him back was shaking. Evans's eyes were closed and his features had relaxed into a strangely peaceful expression. It was difficult to get him back through the window and across the dark room. 'You'll hear more of this tomorrow.'"

>> No.15130744

>>15129306
>committed suicide in the same house that Beethoven died in
you are correct