/lit/ - Literature

[Anonymous No.15855171]

I hate this fat faggot and his overwrought books

[Anonymous No.15855190]

>stream of consciousness
more like stepping stones of consciousness

[Anonymous No.15855243]

I love this fat faggot and his overwrought books

[Anonymous No.15855335]

>tfw every now and then /lit/ will have a really substantial Henry James thread, even now, even when the board is much shittier than it used to be

The fact that /lit/ will always take time out of its way to substantially discuss Henry James is one of the most charming features of the board, and it's part of why I keep coming back here, even when I can be largely disgusted with the state of the board these days.

[Anonymous No.15855385]

>>15855335
>whole board is shit for weeks
>suddenly, comes an amazing discussion about Ezra Pound or early XIX century war diaries or a forgotten French writer or novelists from South America
/lit/ has its moments.

[Anonymous No.15855397]

>>15855171
>>15855243
I respect this fat faggot and his perfectly wrought books.

[Anonymous No.15855402]

Is Portrait of a lady a good starting point ?

[Anonymous No.15855407]

>>15855335
It was with the sense of a, for him, very memorable something that he peered now into the immediate future, and tried, not without compunction, to take that period up where he had, prospectively, left it. But just where the deuce *had* he left it? The consciousness of dubiety was, for our friend, not, this morning, quite yet clean-cut enough to outline the figures on what she had called his "horizon," between which and himself the twilight was indeed of a quality somewhat intimidating. He had run up, in the course of time, against a good number of "teasers;" and the function of teasing them back—of, as it were, giving them, every now and then, "what for"—was in him so much a habit that he would have been at a loss had there been, on the face of it, nothing to lose. Oh, he always had offered rewards, of course – had ever so liberally pasted the windows of his soul with staring appeals, minute descriptions, promises that knew no bounds. But the actual recovery of the article – the business of drawing and crossing the cheque, blotched though this were with tears of joy – had blankly appeared to him rather in the light of a sacrilege, casting, he sometimes felt, a palpable chill on the fervour of the next quest. It was just this fervour that was threatened as, raising himself on his elbow, he stared at the foot of his bed. That his eyes refused to rest there for more than the fraction of an instant, may be taken—*was*, even then, taken by Keith Tantalus—as a hint of his recollection that after all the phenomenon wasn't to be singular. Thus the exact repetition, at the foot of Eva's bed, of the shape pendulous at the foot of *his* was hardly enough to account for the fixity with which he envisaged it, and for which he was to find, some years later, a motive in the (as it turned out) hardly generous fear that Eva had already made the great investigation "on her own." Her very regular breathing presently reassured him that, if she *had* peeped into "her" stocking, she must have done so in sleep. Whether he should wake her now, or wait for their nurse to wake them both in due course, was a problem presently solved by a new development. It was plain that his sister was now watching him between her eyelashes. He had half expected that. She really was--he had often told her that she really was—magnificent; and her magnificence was never more obvious than in the pause that elapsed before she all of a sudden remarked "They so very indubitably *are*, you know!"

[Anonymous No.15855416]

>>15855407
wasn't this a parody?
>>15855402
yeah

[Anonymous No.15855583]

>>15855171
his short story with the Butler is great

[Anonymous No.15855693]

Ain't no paragraph like a Henry James paragraph cause a Henry James paragraph don't stop