/lit/ - Literature

>>23351445
Where did you get that picture of me?

>loudhousefag

>>21745740
I don’t think you understand.
People [should/shouldn’t] have gay sex. My favorite [philosopher/religious text] says so.

I thought E. B. White (Charlotte’s Web) and T. H. White (The Once and Future King) were the same author until a few minutes ago.

/lit/ says to start with the greeks, but where exactly? Do I just jump into Plato? Should I read the pre-socratics first? If so, which ones?

>>21309413
His video game takes are terrible, he accused Dark Souls 1 of bad game design cuz it's too hard and enemies kept respawning when he died. Then to top it off he said the atmosphere/art was bad. Can't make this shit up.

What do you think of the elitism surrounding classical literature? Do you think it's warranted, or people shouldn't consider themselves more intelligent/superior for reading books over movies or whatever?

>>21274528
>Lovecraft
>better prose than Tolkien
Genuinely the most low IQ take I've seen in a long time

I can't take seriously any author who hasn't had sex. As a man, if you haven't had sex with a woman, you are not a man. You are a child still. I don't care if you're 30 or 40.

I'm talking no condom sex. Which is why I don't even trust the majority of opinions of this board when it comes to books. You're not men yet. You can't write for shit and you sure as hell can't read for shit.

should i use a serif or sans-serif font for my ereader?

>>20631619
Anon you don't need to be a christian to appreciate the novel, you're just retarded

>>20623546
>trying to argue that some edgy shonen has better writing than Dosto
anon are you retarded?

>>20573197
>transgressive
Hitler cunny sneed

Rate Keely's prose

>Walking the narrow London streets, the blueish darkness of the long morning shadows chilled, late as Spring had become. The rush of inhabitants poured out busily from every intersection and young orphans squatted in the alleys where stones had been pried up for mumbley-peg. The horses’ hooves made an inelegant clatter of sound, a stilted rhythm, often interrupted, as the jarveys halted and veered around the crowd or one another, accompanying the jangling equipage as they yelled or coughed or clicked twice, from their back teeth. The beasts dwarfed the dark-veiled woman in her widow’s weeds—snorting and champing, their spittle fell in strands to the cold stones. There was nothing predictable, no system; the mass of people was squeezed in one end and came out the other, and she thronged with them.

>Faces swept by impersonally, expressionless, each merging with the last, roiling about her in undifferentiated waves. The scents were myriad, the calls of warehouse workers harsh and incessant, though possessed of a certain regularity. The onrush of sound drove at her, distracting in its ebb and flow, and she wished it might all be subsumed into a greater thrum, that she might hear the moving of the spheres over all, that the sacred mathematics might fill the quiet moments and dull the cacophony. Like an alienist, she searched for the machine in man—but failed to find it.

>When her steps turned to the avenue she sought—wide and Eastward-facing—she emerged from the cavernous, dark coolth into a honeyed scene: the high, stately walls of the courthouse were limned with sunlight, though a shadowed brow crouched still beneath the capitals. She admired the dome again, thrust into the sky proudly—aloof and unyielding. Behind it, silhouetted against the bared pulp of the orange rind clouds was a floating vessel, idling minutely. The bronze of its magnum tank shone in the slanting light like Olympian fire. For a moment, she shied away from its brightness before her vision settled again on the grand courthouse; just beneath the dome was the great clock, precise and fluted in ageing copper, but half-hooded yet by a lingering tatter of night. She set her course by this star, and clutching her veil over her face, made passage through the crowd, staring at her feet so that the unsettled glances might only be imagined.

>Arriving at the stately steps where powder-wigged barristers loitered or trotted by, she turned to the young man Bucknell whom the widow had sent with her from the boarding house. He had not attempted to take her arm and though she felt the insult, she had declined to give it, feeling no desire to confirm his snub. He hardly looked at her, and bent his shoulders over like a silly fool.

Why does everyone here hate anime/manga? Even if it's inferior to literature that doesn't make it bad.

>that that

What happened to the obsessive advaita vedanta poster