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Post by Wolfgang on May 15, 2019 20:48:39 GMT -5
So, here’s a scenario. Your girlfriend tells you her brother is into rap and has an Instagram account where he showcases his performance of some of his original compositions. You don’t listen to rap/hip-hop but you look at your girlfriend’s brother’s IG account. You watch and listen and start to enjoy them. A week later, your girlfriend introduces you to her brother for the first time. You shake hands and, trying to make a connection, you say, “I really like your music.” He says to you, “oh, you like rap?” You don’t know anything about rap other than what you sampled the previous week of your gf’s brother’s IG account. But you say, “oh, sure.” He says, “Who do you listen to?” You say, “Oh, you know, the main ones.” He says, “Like who? Eminem?” You say, “Yeah, he’s cool.” And then your girlfriend’s brother walks away. He probably doesn’t think much about you. —- So, I’m wondering, what keeps people from simply telling the truth? Why couldn’t you have said when asked about rap, “I don’t listen to any rap, only your stuff and I kind of like them.” This would be the truth. This is literature? This is actually a paraphrase of a small scene from the third short story in Baby, You’re Gonna Be Mine (by Kevin Wilson).
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Post by mikegarrison on May 15, 2019 20:55:53 GMT -5
Oh. Well if I were the character there, I probably would have said, "I don't know sh*t about rap, but I listened to some of your stuff on instagram and it was interesting."
In real life I do know some rap beyond just Eminem.
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Post by Wolfgang on May 15, 2019 20:59:55 GMT -5
Oh. Well if I were the character there, I probably would have said, "I don't know sh*t about rap, but I listened to some of your stuff on instagram and it was interesting." In real life I do know some rap beyond just Eminem. Yes, that is what I said. (See above) I asked why people don’t simply tell the truth? Anyway, it’s just a short story and the author just wants to develop that character and otherwise create tension. But I find it odd that in real life conversations, people don’t tell the truth about the most innocuous things. Maybe it’s just easier?
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Post by mikegarrison on May 15, 2019 23:09:18 GMT -5
Oh. Well if I were the character there, I probably would have said, "I don't know sh*t about rap, but I listened to some of your stuff on instagram and it was interesting." In real life I do know some rap beyond just Eminem. Yes, that is what I said. (See above) I asked why people don’t simply tell the truth? Anyway, it’s just a short story and the author just wants to develop that character and otherwise create tension. But I find it odd that in real life conversations, people don’t tell the truth about the most innocuous things. Maybe it’s just easier? Compared to most people, I'm really bad at names and faces. Sometimes when I'm talking to somebody I know I've been previously introduced to, I try really hard to avoid letting them know that I have no f*cking idea what their name is. I've found that many people are kind of insulted if you admit up front that you don't remember who they are.
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Post by Wolfgang on May 22, 2019 13:50:18 GMT -5
Still reading the short story collection Baby, You’re Gonna Be Mine (by Kevin Wilson). In one of the stories titled “The Horror We Made,” one of the leads is named “Wolfgang.” Didn’t expect that. Seriously, I didn’t know about it.
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Post by nowhereman on May 22, 2019 14:56:45 GMT -5
Yes, that is what I said. (See above) I asked why people don’t simply tell the truth? Anyway, it’s just a short story and the author just wants to develop that character and otherwise create tension. But I find it odd that in real life conversations, people don’t tell the truth about the most innocuous things. Maybe it’s just easier? Compared to most people, I'm really bad at names and faces. Sometimes when I'm talking to somebody I know I've been previously introduced to, I try really hard to avoid letting them know that I have no f*cking idea what their name is. I've found that many people are kind of insulted if you admit up front that you don't remember who they are. I find that I have trouble remembering names when it's a third party doing the introducing. It's easier to remember a name if you are only talking to one person and that person does the introduction. It's also tough to remember a name if you're meeting multiple people at once for the first time. Since this is the literature thread though I thought I'd mention that I'm still working on the biography of Simon Bolivar. (also mentioned in the thread on non-fiction recommendations)
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Post by mln59 on May 23, 2019 19:23:38 GMT -5
had a slight change of plans. had a delay in reading after the art forger. started the myths and legends book last night. i've read the 1st 10 chapters of the myths and legends book. decided to revisit my past issues of the atlantic.
going to read the july/august 2018 issue next
finished some magazine issues. now that my presentation is over, going to pick up the myths and legends book again. the next section is 5 chapters, roughly 75 pages.
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Post by Wolfgang on May 29, 2019 2:47:30 GMT -5
Baby, You’re Gonna Be Mine (by Kevin Wilson)
A vey good collection of short stories, all accessible. There’s no weak entry in the collection, each just as strong as the others. Wilson does a great job of making each scene uncomfortable in some way, whether through some unspoken tension between characters or the frustrating way some characters make decisions or just the general sense that people around you are very disappointing for one reason or another. All these things (and more) are found in every nook and cranny in each story. What I love the most is the way the mundane become so bizarre or horrifying so quickly such that the mundane become fantastical. This is what I love about all my favorite stories, the way they transform the mundane into something strange. John Cheever was a master at this.
Anyway, really powerful collection. So fully charged with energy.
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Post by Wolfgang on May 29, 2019 2:58:43 GMT -5
First Love, Last Rites (by Ian McEwan)
I read this collection of short stories 20+ years ago and have forgotten almost everything about it except my general emotion that it was quite powerful in a raw way. So, I started rereading it again. Boy, I can’t believe I forgot the details. Anyway, without giving away any spoilers, here’s my early assessment of each story:
“Homemade” — very offensive; don’t read it. “Solid Geometry” — very strange and very slow pace “Last Day of Summer” — really really good “Cocker at the Theater” — don’t waste your time
That’s where I am right now. Four more stories remaining.
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Post by mln59 on May 29, 2019 6:16:20 GMT -5
First Love, Last Rites (by Ian McEwan) I read this collection of short stories 20+ years ago and have forgotten almost everything about it except my general emotion that it was quite powerful in a raw way. So, I started rereading it again. Boy, I can’t believe I forgot the details. Anyway, without giving away any spoilers, here’s my early assessment of each story: “Homemade” — very offensive; don’t read it. “Solid Geometry” — very strange and very slow pace “Last Day of Summer” — really really good “Cocker at the Theater” — don’t waste your time That’s where I am right now. Four more stories remaining. very offensive? well, now i have to read it
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Post by Wolfgang on Jun 2, 2019 21:00:01 GMT -5
First Love, Last Rites (by Ian McEwan)
A spoiler-free impression of the stories in this collection:
“Homemade” — very offensive; don’t read it. “Solid Geometry” — very strange and very slow pace “Last Day of Summer” — really really good “Cocker at the Theater” — don’t waste your time "Butterflies" -- good story, disturbing ending "Conversation with a Cupboard Man" -- disturbing story "First Love, Last Rites" -- another disturbing story "Disguises" -- The best story in the collection but "Last Day of Summer" is pretty darn close. Thoroughly enjoyable once you get used to the rhythm of the sentences, which tend to be on the long side and almost stream of consciousness. However, throughout the reading, I had a feeling of dread that something terrible was going to happen. It made me sick.
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Post by Wolfgang on Jun 3, 2019 15:47:16 GMT -5
The next fiction I'm planning on reading is Lucia Berlin's critically acclaimed short story collection, A Manual for Cleaning Women. The author was virtually unknown during her lifetime while she wrote fiction and held various odd jobs to support herself and her sons. After her death, her stature skyrocketed with the publication of this collection, which made everyone wonder "Who the f*** is Lucia Berlin?" and "Why haven't I heard of her?"
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Post by mikegarrison on Jun 3, 2019 17:32:54 GMT -5
First Love, Last Rites (by Ian McEwan) I read this collection of short stories 20+ years ago and have forgotten almost everything about it except my general emotion that it was quite powerful in a raw way. So, I started rereading it again. Boy, I can’t believe I forgot the details. Anyway, without giving away any spoilers, here’s my early assessment of each story: “Homemade” — very offensive; don’t read it. “Solid Geometry” — very strange and very slow pace “Last Day of Summer” — really really good “Cocker at the Theater” — don’t waste your time That’s where I am right now. Four more stories remaining. very offensive? well, now i have to read it Wikipedia: "Homemade", the second story in the collection, is an unsettling tale of a self-satisfied teenager, confident in his ability to outperform his friend in every 'adult' discipline: drinking, smoking, etc., until he realises he is still a virgin. The protagonist then sets out to have sex with his ten-year-old sister, whom he does not find in the least attractive ("you could almost pass her off as plain"), under the grotesque pretence of playing 'Mummies and Daddies". We get the impression that the narrator wants to lose the shameful tag of virginity above everything else, and is desperate to assert his masculinity on something, anything. This criticism of male thinking is best summed up in the narrator's thoughts as he "felt proud, proud to be f*cking, even if it were only Connie, my ten-year-old sister, even if it had been a crippled mountain goat..."
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Post by Wolfgang on Jun 3, 2019 17:58:07 GMT -5
very offensive? well, now i have to read it Wikipedia: "Homemade", the second story in the collection, is an unsettling tale of a self-satisfied teenager, confident in his ability to outperform his friend in every 'adult' discipline: drinking, smoking, etc., until he realises he is still a virgin. The protagonist then sets out to have sex with his ten-year-old sister, whom he does not find in the least attractive ("you could almost pass her off as plain"), under the grotesque pretence of playing 'Mummies and Daddies". We get the impression that the narrator wants to lose the shameful tag of virginity above everything else, and is desperate to assert his masculinity on something, anything. This criticism of male thinking is best summed up in the narrator's thoughts as he "felt proud, proud to be f*cking, even if it were only Connie, my ten-year-old sister, even if it had been a crippled mountain goat..." I hate when they rearrange stories for different editions, much like record albums that contain different combinations of songs depending on where it was released, see, e.g., Beatles' albums (US vs. UK versions). In my edition, "Homemade" is the first story (not the second, per wikipedia) and "Last Day of Summer" is the third story (not the first, per wikipedia).
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Post by Wolfgang on Jun 4, 2019 20:10:59 GMT -5
A Manual for Cleaning Women (by Lucia Berlin)
I've read four stories so far and, initially, I was thinking, "Boy, this is not really my cup of tea." The stories are mostly the impressions and observations by the main characters of things in their lives. They're supported by a bare-bones plot. But the observations are smart and often witty. So, I keep reading. The pages turn. It's not like it's a struggle. I can see the appeal. The stories have an odd structure where they seem unfocused in the beginning as lots of little things are discussed with no apparent rhyme or reason but eventually, the writer homes in on her target and the rest of the story is about ONE thing. It's like someone doing target practice; you shoot and kind of hit the outer circles but eventually, you get better and hit the bullseye. It's also like a Robert Altman film, see, e.g., Nashville, MASH, Gosford Park, where he spends the opening scenes introducing us to all the characters and setting and you feel, "Where the f*** is this movie going?" and then "WHAM!" Altman reveals the crux of the story.
The eponymous story is really good. No plot at all. Just a cleaning woman who rides the bus up and down Oakland/Berkeley to cleaning jobs in various apartments and houses who gives her thoughts and observations. It sounds annoying but it isn't.
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