/lit/ - Literature

>>22985551
10 books in each of those years read over and over and studied in depth would do you better towards your goal. Really you should just take 5 or 6 books and spend how ever long it takes to pull them apart and really understand them inside and out. Your comprehension and understanding of literature will greatly increase.

But Bloom was a writer of no discernible talent (picrel) and proves that reading is not enough, this was Bloom's error, he thought that was all there was to it and never understood the reader which is the most important thing for a writer.

>>22052038
He wanted to be a fiction writer, it is one of the worst books I have read and there is no competition.

>>21529202
From a purely technical standpoint Bloom is right, they are terrible. But Bloom could never understand there is more to literature than syntax and structure, which is also why he failed miserably as an author.

>Perscors woke to the sound of rushing waters. The stream, near which he had slept, had become a raging river, with waves like an ocean’s.
>Rain began to fall, steadily but not alarmingly. After brooding on the transformation of the stream, Perscors looked behind him to the east, where the sky was a threatening black.
>He remembered two texts : “MySpirit shall not always strive with man”and “Itrepenteth me that I have made them.”
>“What giant is there in this earth of Lucifer in these days?”Perscors asked aloud. The answer : it could be only himself. If the Archons and the warriors of his cosmos could not stop him, and they could not, then they would seek to drown him.
>He looked up coldly at the eastern sky, and saw that its darkness was spreading quickly. He had not much time. But the fire that had carried him through would not be quenched by these waters. He felt a detached curiosity as to how, but not as to whether, he would survive.
>“Iwill ride it out, but in what?”
>Perscors walked west slowly, following the river. The rain fell more heavily. As the river widened, it seemed more and more an ocean, and took over nearly half the western horizon. Intuiting an approach, Perscors turned around to the east. A clumsy old bark, seemingly deserted, drifted rapidly toward him. Very broad and low, filthy with bilge, yellow-sided, it had a badly split mainmast. The sails seemed crumpled, yet held up strongly in the wind.
>Taking it as the sign of his ongoing fate, Perscors leaped aboard midship as it came by him. At his feet lay a man, taller and broader even than himself. An icy wind had come up, and Perscors shivered violently as he stared at the matted-haired man, laid out in what seemed a shroud, yet staring back at him out of gray-green eyes still alive with anguish. Perscors knelt down near the man and placed his hand on his brow. The giant closed his eyes, but said to Perscors : “Whoareyou?”
>“Awanderer from another cosmos. And you?”
>Opening his eyes, the giant replied : “Nimrud the Hunter. This is my death ship. I sail back to the Arimaneans, in the West, to be buried among my own.”