i saw the cover and i didn't at first get it was THE cookie mueller from the john waters movies!

how is it???

i love it. it's just like at work. (drunk) people telling me what's happened in their lives. except it's interesting

Exactly. Literature is not just mere story-telling in the fictional sense, but through how we construct our stories and the metaphors, language, imagery, and feeling which is used by authors to tell this story tells more than fiction, but reveals aspects of our realer selves and how we see our world. Even pulp and tabloid writing is very telling. "Americana" is such a diluted genre of national storytelling because much like our Olympic teams, America has freelanced all the best talent from across the world, including writers and storytellers. We use ourselves to tell fictional stories because its the only way we know how.

okay, i am finally starting this:

i want i want i want!

got this from a friend who's read it 13 times. Quite a nasty looking thing by now.

check out thug notes!
http://www.thug-notes.com

Paul Beatty: The White Boy Shuffle

this was nice! i cried in my lecture today while reading

later tonight I will start this:


does anyone have favorite books that take place in new york and can recommend me some? thank youuuu

Just finished "Another Country" by James Baldwin.. The narration and particular the use of sensory details and rich descriptive adjectives is uniquely fantastic. I also liked the deep character development and insights HOWEVER I felt some of the grittier aspects were a bit forced abruptly or even contrived. Now I realize this is biased on having read all the literature AFTER Baldwin where drugs, promiscuity, homosexuality are commonplace themes so the sheer groundbreaking aspect of his use of these themes should be applauded, however, strictly judging the art by its own merits, I think he either should have better developed how these themes fit into his otherwise well-developed characters OR just not bothered to include it. It makes the narrative become rather incoherent at times. Also, I really don't like how characters suddenly break into dialogue and conversation about deeply existential, political, and societal issues almost arbitrarily in the middle of otherwise trivial conversations with people they had barely met! Who does that in real life?

every time i read a semi autobiographical book and someone mentions kathy acker it always seems to me that she must have been the biggest c-word in the history of the world. even if the authors say nice stuff.

its non fiction but Gangs of New York by Herbert Asbury is an alltime favorite - its nothing like the movie

Andrew Vacchs is a hardboiled writer, his Burke series takes place mostly in NY and shows a very ugly, gritty side of the City...excellent

Lawrence Block has a couple series set in NYC, I like the Matthew Scudder series best, like the Vacchs material it is very hard boiled.

The Alienist I just read and really dug, a mystery in gaslight NYC with Teddy Roosevelt as police commisioner

Jim Carroll - Catholic Diaries

William Burroughs - Junkie

Vachss is one of my faves. the dude is harsh and he will monkey-stomp pedophiles personally.

Usually they are also nazis, so when Wesley blows them up you can't help but cheer.

I need to read that early work that tells about the history of Wesley.

this is gud

Zero History.

I just finished Spook Country a few months ago, and funny thing, I know one of the pro(/an)tagonists personally.

true story... :confused:

going after cacciato



good shit. great start so far:

It was a bad time. Billy Boy Watkins was dead, and so was Frenchie Tucker. Billy Boy had died of fright, scared to death in the field of battle, and Frenchie Tucker had been shot through the nose. Bernie Lynn and lieutenand Sydney Martin had died in tunnels. Pederson was dead and Rudy Chassler was dead. Buff was dead. Ready Mix was dead. They were all among the dead. The rain fed fungus that grew in the men's boots and socks, and their socks rotted, and their feet turned white and soft so that the skin could be scraped off with a fingernail, and Stink Harris woke up screaming one night with a leech on his tongue.

Carl Jung's last.

The Rum Diary.