/lit/ - Literature

>>21655697
Dime?

>>21655697
> Murnane
Literally who?

Who?

>>21655736
WG Sebald

>>21655723
>>21655736
It’s some Aussie author memes by an Aussie autist

>>21655764
Murnane is literally the greatest living writer. No memes here.

>>21655873
> Murnane is literally the greatest living writer
Uhmm that’d be Stephen King, sweatie. Does Murnane have an It? A Stand? No! So try again, chud.

>>21655873
Who?

>>21655898
Ehem he wrote The Plains, the best novel of the last 45 years. Culturize yourself, pleb boy.

>>21655905
Inland is better than The Plains.

>>21655905
Who? And what book?

>>21655945
https://www.newyorker.com/books/page-turner/a-strange-australian-masterpiece

>>21655697
Nah. Also, it's really hard to give a chance to a writer read by such scum as op.

>>21655697
Never heard of him.

>>21656892
What have I done?

>>21655697
>Murnanetard is back
Kek how's it going buddy. post some more excerpts so we can all call them shit. These have been my favourite threads recently

>>21657210
>post some more excerpts so we can all call them shit
So you admit that you disliking them is a put on? Kek, pathetic!

>>21657270
No, everything you posted so far has been shockingly bad. Especially that short story about the teacher lying about having found penpals for his students, that one actually made me laugh. Like how tf is it moving nigga? Where are his adjectives! This nigga's prose barren af

>>21657290
Having adjectives doesn't make for good prose.

>>21657405
In Murnkek's case, not having any talent doesn't make for good prose

>>21657418
The mottled stones kept their fixed places on the floor of the art gallery, but the stones that they brought to mind gave way continually under his bare feet and sometimes so readily that he stumbled and almost fell and forgot for a moment in his effort to keep his footing the vague misery that nagged at him whenever he stepped into the shade of the cliff above the expanse of stones and was the more troubling for his being unable to learn any more of the cause of his mood than that it seemed linked with things that he might have been expected to enjoy: the sounds of the sluggish waves in the safe, shallow bay; the company of his admired boy-cousins and uncles; and the knowledge that his girl-cousins and aunts were just then taking off their clothes behind Women’s Rock at the far, sunlit end of the beach.

>>21657418
During each morning of his holidays, the chief character of this story and the owner of the collection of racebooks had checked the level of the water in the drinking troughs for fifty and more Hereford steers in a paddock of grass and had poured buckets of water into the soil around the roots of each seedling in the lines of seedlings of cypress and sugar-gum that the owner of the racebooks, who was also the owner of the Hereford steers, had planted a few months previously along one of the boundaries of one of the paddocks of grass, which he rented from three men who were the sons of one of the sisters of his father.

>>21657290
>ebonics
kys

>>21657418
I accept your concession >>21657558
>>21657583

>>21657558
>>21657583
>this was unironically posted to demonstrate Murnkek’s superiority

>>21657904
You can't critique it.

>>21655697
What did he mean with the negro in a pink limousine?

>>21655697
Doug Dimedome

>>21657558
>>21657583
Overwritten tosh with incredibly poor descriptive character. Especially the bay scene - where is the description of the sky? The colour of the waves? Even the description of the principal character's mood is underdeveloped. "Vague misery" isn't enough.
Here's some real writing, on the subject of the coast, so you can compare:

"But that day, as I sat on the tranquil shore, it was possible to believe one was gazing into eternity. The veils of mist that drifted inland that morning had cleared, the vault of the sky was empty and blue, not the slightest breeze was stirring, the trees looked painted, and not a single bird flew across the velvet-brown water. It was as if the world was under a bell jar, until great cumulus clouds brewed up out of the west casting a grey shadow upon the earth."

>>21658264
Your description could belong to 100s of other writers who could have written that scene the exact same way. What separates it from other descriptive writers? What are its quirks? On the other hand, Murnane has one of the most distinctive styles of prose out there; Murnane always writes like Murnane.

>>21658298
>Murnane has one of the most distinctive styles of prose out there;
Did not know mediocrity constituted a distinct style. It is reminiscent of the schlock being churned out at MFA programs
>Murnane always writes like Murnane.
Tautology. Trash always smells like trash.

>>21655697
Why does he look so sad here?

>>21658328
Not the anon you’re responding to but tautologies don’t work like that bro. You really suck at arguing

>>21658348
Retard

>>21658360
>hey you’re using an argumentative device incorrectly
>no YOU’RE the retard
lol ok

>>21658374
Retard

>>21658379
Tautology. Retard

>>21658298
>Your description could belong to 100s of other writers who could have written that scene the exact same way
Of course a two line excerpt is not enough to fully exposit the distinctive writing style of an author. I posted this passage to highlight just how much better a description of a bay could be if Murnane had deigned to supply us with the barest descriptive detail.
>Murnane has one of the most distinctive styles of prose out there
He is uniquely middlebrow, that's for sure
>Murnane always writes like Murnane
Yes, he has produced a steady stream of shit that smells distinctly like Murnane's own bowel movements.

>>21658385
Retard

>>21655873
Wouldn't say he's THE best, but he's up there. Certainly one of the most moving

>>21658346
he was always depressed

muh holocaust muh jews muh collective guilt

>>21658328
>>21658391
Murnane doesn't seem to have the same problem. Perhaps because he has a unique way of expressing himself unlike Shitbald.
>uniquely middlebrow
Look at the seethe. You haven't even read him. Here's another for you:

And from the fig-tree learn a parable: when the branch thereof is now tender, and the leaves come forth, you know the summer is nigh. So likewise you, when you shall see all these things, know that it is nigh, even at the doors.

Even the gospel was more than one gospel. The reading for the last Sunday after Pentecost began with the abomination of desolation and with a warning to the reader. For three quarters of its length, the gospel for that last Sunday of the year continued to warn. Near the end came the clouds and the four winds, and then the last pause before the ultimate turmoil. And in that last pause, startlingly under the terrible sky, the fig-tree appeared, with its leaves coming forth.

More clearly than anything I read or heard in my childhood, that last pause near the end of the last gospel of the year told me that every thing would always be more than one thing. The last pause told me that every thing would always contain another thing, which would contain still another thing or which would seem, absurdly at first sight, to contain the thing that had seemed to contain it.

Five years after I had heard the last gospel of the ecclesiastical year in the parish church of Saint Mark, Fawkner, I listened for the first time in my life to a piece of what I called classical music. Near the end of that music I heard a pause. The solemn themes of the music paused for a moment. Just before the clouds had drifted over all the sky and just before the four winds whistled and the last struggle began, I heard the pause of the summer that seemed nigh.

I have heard that pause many times since in pieces of music. I have heard the pause while I read the next-to-last page in many a book. The larger, the solemn themes are about to go into battle for the last time. By now, of course, the solemn themes are not themes but men and women, and when they pause for the last time they look over their shoulders.

They look back towards some district where they lived as children or where they once fell in love. Perhaps they see the green lawn or even the branch with green leaves that they saw in their native district. For a moment a simple theme is the only theme heard; the greenness appears in place of the greyness.

For an absurd moment within that moment, the listener or the reader dares to suppose that this after all is the last theme; this and not the other is the end; the green has outlasted the grey; the grey has been covered over at last by the green.

But this is only a moment within a moment. The clouds resume their drifting; the four winds whistle. The solemn themes turn to meet the storm.

>>21659035
Which he shouldn't be given the way he writes. But somehow is.

Bump

>>21659859
Pretty nice, reminds me of Hemingway somewhat

>>21660897
It is the understated aesthetic. But difference is that Hemingway is trying for the objective correlative. He knows the response he wants to generate in the reader and picks everything accordingly; In Murnane's case, and he has admitted to this in interviews, he himself doesn't know why some images recur or why some words draw response from him. He is trying to capture and relate to the reader the contents of his head through this network of images and impressions that the reader may also feel what he did while writing it while reading it. It progresses Hemingway's aesthetic to greater heights, and Murnane is in general a more metafictional and metaphysical writer.

>>21659859
That's alright. The things contained in things bit is a bit feeble, but the musical section pulls the thing around.

>>21661068
You would know what he meant by the that if you read the whole book. He is talking about metaphors and language. The blooming of the fig is used as a metaphor for the arriving apocalypse. It contains the idea of apocalypse by association, but in the gospels there is a blooming fig (literal) within the events of the apocalyse as well. That's what he means one thing can be more than one thing. It's the "magic" of language.

>>21658391
>Of course a two line excerpt is not enough to fully exposit the distinctive writing style of an author
Post a distinctive excerpt from Sebald.

>>21659859
Thanks for posting this Colleen Hoover excerpt

>>21661940
See for yourself.

>>21661997
>ebook
lmaoooooooo

>>21661997
Reads a lot like Munane desu but it’s because of the understated aesthetic. Murnane and Hoover, and they have admitted to this in interviews, themselves do not know why some images recur or why some words draw response from them. They are both trying to capture and relate to the reader the contents of their head through this network of images and impressions that the reader may also feel what they did while writing it while reading it

>>21662020
Seethe Shitbaldcuck. Why don't you reply to this anon?>>21661847

>>21662005
Googled image.