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/lit/ - Literature

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11079095 No.11079095 [Reply] [Original]

Well /lit/, was it theory-fiction? Proto-theory-fiction?

>> No.11079110

>>11079095
wtf is theory-fiction?

>> No.11079124
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11079124

>Muh Zane Grey pulp is high lit

>> No.11079144

No. To me theory fiction is identified mainly by its inscrutability and once you get the hang of identifying who's speaking in BM it's really not at all a tough read. Maybe it's informed by some theory (the way lots of fiction is) but it has none of the trappings of, say, Meltdown.

>> No.11079170

>>11079144
>once you get the hang of identifying who's speaking in BM it's really not at all a tough read.
but its literally just the first character that was just mentioned then the one who replies
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>> No.11079270

>>11079144
The narrator has an aside every couple pages where he waxes philosophically about man, God, nature, reality, war; not to mention the Judge, who appears to mirror or manifest the narrators philosophy. It certainly wasn’t written as theory-fiction, but Keirkegaard never wrote existensialism either. I think you can make an argument for proto-theory-fiction

>> No.11079292

>>11079144
>theory fiction is identified mainly by its inscrutability
>Finnegans Wake is theory fiction

>> No.11079316

>>11079292
the Wake isn't inscruitable

>> No.11079324
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11079324

>>11079316
Compared to Meltdown it is

>> No.11079329

>>11079292
Genre studies have been around long enough that you should know this argument is disingenuous.

>> No.11079569

>>11079095
>It was the judge and the imbecile. They were both of them naked and they neared through the desert dawn like beings of a mode little more than tangential to the world at large, their figures now quick with clarity and now fugitive in the strangeness of that same light. Like things whose very portent renders them ambiguous. Like things so charged with meaning that their forms are dimmed. The three at the well watched mutely this transit out of the breaking day and even though there was no longer any question as to what it was that approached yet none would name it. They lumbered on, the judge a pale pink beneath his talc of dust like something newly born, the imbecile much the darker, lurching together across the pan at the very extremes of exile like some scurrilous king stripped of his vestiture and driven together with his fool into the wilderness to die.