Forgive me, for I have sinned. I have never read Dostoevsky, even though I know I should. No Tolstoy either. I've tried les Miserables but the book's one long string of appositives and asides, you have to keep backtracking to remember what the actual story is about. It would be wonderful if Hugo's rich writing style could confine itself to a single subject for more than two pages without digressing.
I have also hated much "art," apparently wrongly. You know my opinions on Citizen Kane; I'm sorry, I just can't see how that lout gets anything more or less than what he deserves, or why I should feel empathy for his situation.
Beyond that, I freaking hated Their Eyes Were Watching God. Hokey homespun metaphors like "something fell off the shelf inside of her. She bent over, and realized it was her image of Joe," do not constitute good writing. That's just painful to read. And that weird part where she got some sort of orgasm from watching bees and flowers around a pear tree was more disturbing than profound.
The Stranger sucks too. It did not convince me that our lives are meaningless and absurd. It merely convinced me that Camus's life was meaningless and absurd, and I could have been told that directly without being forced to read the stupid book, though it was mercifully short.
The Catcher in the Rye. Critics agree that it's badly written tripe, but they insist that its redeeming value is in its open appeal to disillusioned adolescence. No, it doesn't even have that. I was sixteen when I read it, and I was a pretty sullen kid, and even I wanted to cheer when the pimp hit him. That was the best part of the book, Maurice laying down the law. That rotten little punk deserved a beating, or maybe just to be shipped off to Vietnam so he could learn what real suffering is.
Okay, I'm done, for now at least. Thank you for listening. Feel free to contribute your own artistic outrage, provided you don't expect me to agree with you on all of it.
I have also hated much "art," apparently wrongly. You know my opinions on Citizen Kane; I'm sorry, I just can't see how that lout gets anything more or less than what he deserves, or why I should feel empathy for his situation.
Beyond that, I freaking hated Their Eyes Were Watching God. Hokey homespun metaphors like "something fell off the shelf inside of her. She bent over, and realized it was her image of Joe," do not constitute good writing. That's just painful to read. And that weird part where she got some sort of orgasm from watching bees and flowers around a pear tree was more disturbing than profound.
The Stranger sucks too. It did not convince me that our lives are meaningless and absurd. It merely convinced me that Camus's life was meaningless and absurd, and I could have been told that directly without being forced to read the stupid book, though it was mercifully short.
The Catcher in the Rye. Critics agree that it's badly written tripe, but they insist that its redeeming value is in its open appeal to disillusioned adolescence. No, it doesn't even have that. I was sixteen when I read it, and I was a pretty sullen kid, and even I wanted to cheer when the pimp hit him. That was the best part of the book, Maurice laying down the law. That rotten little punk deserved a beating, or maybe just to be shipped off to Vietnam so he could learn what real suffering is.
Okay, I'm done, for now at least. Thank you for listening. Feel free to contribute your own artistic outrage, provided you don't expect me to agree with you on all of it.
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