This reads like a 12 year old wrote it

[Anonymous No.11203425]

>zowie!!!!!!!! ::::;; flngggghh goes the bus

Absolutely dire, turgid, overly self conscious prose turns what should be a great story into a chore.

Read Mailer, Thompson and Didion. Leave this prick to rot in his obscure grave.

[Anonymous No.11203642]

>Stylistically, the above passage has the essential quality of Kitsch, or a pseudo-cultural product manufactured for the market: the built-in reaction. The hastiest, most obtuse reader is left in no doubt as to how he is supposed to react to Charlotte with her malachite table and—later—“her alabaster legs and lamb-chop shanks…in hard, slippery, glistening skins of nylon and silk.” As T.W. Adorno has noted of popular songs: “The composition hears for the listener.” The specific Kitsch device here is intimacy. Intimacy with the subject not in the old-fashioned sense of research, but an intimacy of style: the parajournalist cozies up, merges into the subject so completely that the viewpoint is wholly from inside, like family gossip. “All right, Charlotte, you…” There is no space between writer and topic, no “distancing” to allow the most rudimentary objective judgment, such as for factual accuracy. Inside and outside are one. It might be called topological journalism after those experiments with folding and cutting a piece of paper until it has only one side. There is also an intimacy with the reader, who is grabbed by the lapels—the buttonhole school of writing—often being addressed by Jimmy Breslin as “you.”

[Anonymous No.11203923]

>>11203642
Kitsch is an apt way of putting it. There's something so arch and forced about Wolfe's work in the early part of his career.

[Anonymous No.11203939]

>>11203425
I agree. Thomas Wolfe, however, is tragically neglected on /lit/.

[Anonymous No.11203959]

>>11203939
As he is everywhere anon. Greatest 20th century American author. Only Faulkner is his rival.

>A stone, a leaf, an unfound door; of a stone, a leaf, a door. And of all the forgotten faces. Naked and alone we came into exile. In her dark womb we did not know our mother's face; from the prison of her flesh we come into the unspeakable and incommunicable prison of this earth. Which of us has known his brother? Which of us has looked into his father's heart? Which of us has not remained forever prison-pent? Which of us is not forever a stranger and alone? O waste of loss, in the hot mazes, lost, among bright stars on this most weary unbright cinder, lost! Remembering speechlessly we seek the great forgotten language, the lost lane-end into heaven, a stone, a leaf, an unfound door. Where? When? O lost, and by the wind grieved, ghost, come back again.

[Anonymous No.11204035]

>>11203959
>A stone, a leaf, an unfound door; of a stone, a leaf, a door. And of all the forgotten faces. Naked and alone we came into exile. In her dark womb we did not know our mother's face; from the prison of her flesh we come into the unspeakable and incommunicable prison of this earth. Which of us has known his brother? Which of us has looked into his father's heart? Which of us has not remained forever prison-pent? Which of us is not forever a stranger and alone? O waste of loss, in the hot mazes, lost, among bright stars on this most weary unbright cinder, lost! Remembering speechlessly we seek the great forgotten language, the lost lane-end into heaven, a stone, a leaf, an unfound door. Where? When? O lost, and by the wind grieved, ghost, come back again.
oh dang

[Anonymous No.11204065]

Worst thing Tom Wolfe ever did was steal Thomas Wolfe's name.