/lit/ - Literature

[Anonymous No.18649325]

This is just vile crap and says nothing of actual substance. This is a teenager's idea of profundity. Dr, Suess books contribute more to society, Fuck you.

[Anonymous No.18649329]

I will never read it no matter how often you post it

yes I know that I am replying to a bot thread

[Anonymous No.18649388]

>>18649325
>>18649329
t. filtered mongoloids who think they're smart but have an IQ of 102 at most.

[Anonymous No.18649413]

This is my favourite book. The amount of brainlets that seethe at it is absolutely glorious. Most keks in my whole day.

[Anonymous No.18649438]

I really wanted to read this book but I recently read the first page because someone posted it on here and I didn't like the prose. It really deflated my interest in the book. Is it all like that?

[Anonymous No.18649445]

>>18649438
The short declarative sentences? Nah. There are a lot of long running sentences later on.

[Anonymous No.18649862]

>>18649325
>cares about a books contributions to society
read for fun you fag

[Anonymous No.18650087]

>>18649438
Yes, it is. I would suggest you give it a chance but if you find yourself filtered after a few chapters, you just won’t like it.

[Anonymous No.18650101]

It's fiction, says it all

[Anonymous No.18650171]

>>18649438

[Anonymous No.18650180]

>>18649438

[Anonymous No.18650404]

Nah man keep reading it gets better. Check this part out from page 163:

They rode now the company did through swift trailing scrublands as the desert hyenas following behind half lost on foot, falling grape rain down from the Heavens like strange nightshade ocean spray with lapping furor of the Almighty, each man a sort of shrouded fever dream wraith, riding both day and night across the starlit forbidance of clay and pumice and sweet alien air. Horses hooves clipping at the barren land beneath them and everywhere was dust. Tufts of Indian Pete moss and harsh scrapped sampling of blackberry bushels, local fauna alike, springing out and doting the hearty pecos landscape that now burst fully upon their collective ethos with an exhubersnce and a continence not of this time. The gang simmered and stopped again for camp. Glanton, half nude from his wainscoat, sporting a new sort of stove pipe hat and sitting back on his horse like some inert virtuous Zoraster, spat something fierce, a great biles of Flem and mucus emerging from his larynx and splashing out in portered oversized pools and somehow effortlessly cooling in the dessert night sand at his horse’s feet as the Kid watched. No one moved. The judge, while minding his keep of journals and field books dome distance yonder did seek out fleeting solace in the company of one if not two nightly tiny Mexican souvernwr cigerellos, his puffed lips pursing lightly as he kissed and nibbled softly at the lit ‘bacco leaves of foreign lands, both attic and in terrorem complete. The same sultanism applied here loosely now with the company though their faces rarely observe it as such. One of the Mexican guides, a half-wit 19 year old with pallet cleft and pricked ears, did speak wearily at Glanton as they reached the summit. They were three days out from Bexar. Maybe four.

hombre, vamos a hacer algo. todo lo que hacemos es caminar por el desierto mirando bebés muertos.

Glanton regarded the Mexican’s questionwith disdain while observing through a newly fashioned telescope a group of Delewares some five clicks yonder.

Si. Manana. said Glanton back at the Mexican.

The company rode on, sleeping sometimes two at a time on Pueblo encampment orphanages long forgotten by time, ancient infinite horrors of some missing race of persons not yet long for this world. Mummified short boned Pueblos and their kin, some remains like obtuse miniaturized leviathans, Sphinx-like in purpose, sitting now proper right and calmly watching back at the company who passed before them.

They rode down a trail. They road through some brush. A mule succumbed to dypsteria and everyday there crept at their shadows thin wolves. The company stopped and watered at the request of Toadvine that Sunday mid morning and regrouped. Toadvine and the Kid spent the day at nearby bar foraging for mescal and great monstrous steaming heapings of beans and tortillas.