/lit/ - Literature

>>11258044
Is there a legit uglier author?

>>11258058
yeah me

>>11258058
He looked better when he was younger.

>>11258044
Is he racist?

>>11258172
He's of high IQ (yes)

>>11258044
>stares back

love this guy

Fuck off I don’t have any cigarettes

>>11258172
No. His novel about Islam was satirical

>>11258362
You have healed me and resurrected my dog! How will I ever repay you?

>>11258078

>>11258044
I would be legitimately terrified if I saw this fuckin goblin in a dark alley

>>11258413
Don't do bad things and be a good guy.

>>11258044
Where the fuck did his upper lip go?

>>11258413
Kek

>>11258495
He seems like the type who would at most rob you with a .25 or a 2.5 inch pocket knife, how fucking weak are you?

>>11258611
A casualty in his war against teeth.

>>11258413
>>11258817

>>11258058
ayn rand

>>11258044
I thought you were murdered?

It all started to go downhill when the dog died.

>>11258044
Whoa didn't notice you, btw are you a huysmans fanboy or did you just use him as a literary device?

>>11258058
Sartre. Houellebecq is ugly cool. Sartre is ugly ugly.

>>11258380
lol your name

>>11259846
he's a husyman fanboy, also a balzac fanboy.

>To spend a weekend in his company is to become an unwitting participant in a sensory-deprivation experiment. External stimuli are reduced to a minimum. Physical movement is discouraged. Likewise, talking and eating, and any other activity that might detract from the primary objective - getting from Saturday morning to Sunday night with as little conscious awareness as possible. Living outside Dublin, where Houellebecq moved from Paris last year, helps: he knows almost no one in the city, and doesn't like to speak English.

>When I rang the bell of his suburban town house in June, I was the first person to have done so in quite some time. Houellebecq answered the door in stockinged feet, blinked at me with his sad, brown eyes and ushered me into the living room. He curled up in a chair with a pack of Silk Cuts and a bottle of Jim Beam and hardly moved for the entire weekend. He murmured obligingly in response to my questions, but finishing a sentence often proved beyond him. Whatever energy he had seemed mostly consumed by the quiet labour of existing.

>Houellebecq's wife, Marie-Pierre, came and went, refilling liquor glasses and emptying the ashtray. By late afternoon, the room was choked with smoke, and Houellebecq was no longer sober. Through a door, half hidden behind some drapes, was a balcony and directly beyond it the gray expanse of the Irish Sea. When I asked Houellebecq when the tide came in, he seemed taken aback. 'I know it moves,' he reflected, 'but we shut the curtains.'

>>11258078
ah, the acclaimed author of my diary desu

>>11260373
balzac sounds like ballsac LOL

>>11260398
literally me