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Search results for tag #literature

[?]palimpseste_bot » 🤖 🌐
@palimpsestebot@mastodon.social

Nothing can be more characteristic than the turbulent pretensions to meekness and simplicity in this address. Again, the versatility and adroitness of Richard is admirably described in the following ironical conversation with Brakenbury:—

— William Hazlitt (1778-1830)
palimpseste.vercel.app/#text/e

    [?]RJT » 🌐
    @many@subconscioussignature.earth

    [?]Rezamemaryan » 🌐
    @rezamemaryan@mastodon.social

    Post1
    The hypocritical ascetics will pass away from the womb of this existence, though the source itself may have been muddy.

    But when your beloved comes to your side, do not be ashamed of what lives within you. Speak with heart and soul.

    This desire is no stranger to you; it is your breath, your very life. Until I may drink you, this body remains a cage.

    I tell reason: the hour of desire came, and passed.

      [?]Rezamemaryan » 🌐
      @rezamemaryan@mastodon.social

      Post2
      The hypocritical ascetics will pass away from the womb of this existence, though the source itself may have been muddy.

      But when your beloved comes to your side, do not be ashamed of what lives within you. Speak with heart and soul.

      This desire is no stranger to you; it is your breath, your very life. Until I may drink you, this body remains a cage.

      I tell reason: the hour of desire came, and passed.

        [?](Older) RJT » 🌐
        @one@subconscioussignature.earth

        [?]Rezamemaryan » 🌐
        @rezamemaryan@mastodon.social

        Post3-End
        But desire answers:

        Remember the one whose truth raised the gallows high—whose crime was to make the hidden visible.

        Today, he has been acquitted.

        — Reza


          [?]RJT » 🌐
          @many@subconscioussignature.earth

          [?]Isaac Asimov » 🤖 🌐
          @CuratedAsimov@mastodon.social

          "In memory yet green, in joy still felt, The scenes of life rise sharply into view. We triumph; Life’s disasters are undealt, And while all else is old, the world is new."

            [?]RJT » 🌐
            @many@subconscioussignature.earth

            [?]Book dedications bot » 🤖 🌐
            @dedication_bot@stefanbohacek.online

            The Ancients by John Larison

            For the matrilineal ancestors of Evelyn Aretsinger and Ruth Diamond, and for all those who will come after

            Alt...For the matrilineal ancestors of Evelyn Aretsinger and Ruth Diamond, and for all those who will come after

              [?]Project Gutenberg » 🌐
              @gutenberg_org@mastodon.social

              How Dante & the Tuscan Vernacular Gave Birth to the Italian Language

              Dante’s decision to write his 14th-century "The Divine Comedy" in Florentine vernacular, not in Latin, shaped the Italian language spoken by 60 million people today.

              by Maria-Anita Ronchini

              thecollector.com/dante-tuscan-

              Books by Dante Alighieri at PG:
              gutenberg.org/ebooks/author/507

              Front page first edition Vocabolario della Crusca, Crusca's dictionary 1612.

This is a  view of the  title page — the "Vocabolario degli Accademici della Crusca", published "In Venezia MDCXII" (Venice, 1612) by Giovanni Alberti ("Appresso Giouanni Alberti").

The Accademia della Crusca's emblem shows a flour sifter/mill with a goat's head below and the motto banner reading "Il più bel fior ne coglie" ("it gathers the most beautiful flower"), a phrase drawn from Petrarch.

              Alt...Front page first edition Vocabolario della Crusca, Crusca's dictionary 1612. This is a view of the title page — the "Vocabolario degli Accademici della Crusca", published "In Venezia MDCXII" (Venice, 1612) by Giovanni Alberti ("Appresso Giouanni Alberti"). The Accademia della Crusca's emblem shows a flour sifter/mill with a goat's head below and the motto banner reading "Il più bel fior ne coglie" ("it gathers the most beautiful flower"), a phrase drawn from Petrarch.

                [?]Isaac Asimov » 🤖 🌐
                @CuratedAsimov@mastodon.social

                "I simply don't think it is reasonable to use IQ tests to produce results of questionable value, which may then serve to justify racists in their own minds and to help bring about the kinds of tragedies we have already witnessed earlier in this century."

                  [?]Fictograma.com » 🌐
                  @fictograma@mastodon.social

                  Me acordé porque esto fue el 1 de septiembre de 2022. Cómo pasa el tiempo.

                  Ese día me llevaron a Zuera por 300€ de multa impagada (alcoholemia + peineta). Pensé que era broma… hasta los grilletes.
                  fictograma.com/d/3923-penal-nu

                    [?]Fictograma.com » 🌐
                    @fictograma@mastodon.social

                    Llamé a mi madre desde la cabina de la cárcel:
                    —Estoy en la cárcel.
                    —¡Ya sabía yo! ¡Tantas horas y este no viene! ¡Entre todos me vais a matar a disgustos!

                    El contador corría. Bienvenido al patio de las farolas naranjas.
                    fictograma.com/d/3925-penal-nu

                      [?]Fictograma.com » 🌐
                      @fictograma@mastodon.social

                      CAPÍTULO 36: Pecho Caliente

                      Kusa pelea con Soka en la biblioteca, los encierran… y resulta que era un sueño.
                      Mientras, Rikan llora frente a Rumia: “Mark te ama”.
                      El taller avanza. 11 días.
                      Y aparece la flor morada.
                      fictograma.com/d/3924-oddysey

                        [?]Rolando Enrique Rosales Murga » 🌐
                        @siradramelekallighieri@mastodon.social

                        [?]Fictograma.com » 🌐
                        @fictograma@mastodon.social

                        Mi vida como vampiro - Cap. XIX–XX: Superpoderes:
                        P.J. baja al metro bailando, sin ansias de morder. Usa su nueva vista (y un empujón mental) para librar a Claudia de la acosadora.
                        fictograma.com/d/3927-mi-vida-

                          [?]Fictograma.com » 🌐
                          @fictograma@mastodon.social

                          Capítulo 9: La fachada de la perdición
                          Stephanie despierta… y empieza a ver lo que hay detrás de la máscara.
                          Matthew Sterling no es quien parece.

                          fictograma.com/d/3926-el-perih

                            [?]The Vulgar Tongue » 🤖 🌐
                            @TheVulgarTongue@zirk.us

                            CUSTARD CAP. The cap worn by the sword-bearer of the city of London, made hollow at the top like a custard.

                            A selection from Francis Grose’s “Dictionary Of The Vulgar Tongue” (1785)

                            --
                            @histodons

                            Image imitating a page from an old document, text (as in main toot):

CUSTARD CAP. The cap worn by the sword-bearer of the city of London, made hollow at the top like a custard.

A selection from Francis Grose’s “Dictionary Of The Vulgar Tongue” (1785)

                            Alt...Image imitating a page from an old document, text (as in main toot): CUSTARD CAP. The cap worn by the sword-bearer of the city of London, made hollow at the top like a custard. A selection from Francis Grose’s “Dictionary Of The Vulgar Tongue” (1785)

                              [?]Book dedications bot » 🤖 🌐
                              @dedication_bot@stefanbohacek.online

                              Behind the Flying Saucer by Frank Scully

                              Dedicated to The Scully Circus,
our trained fleas from heaven—
Skip, Syl, Pat, Non, and Mike—
and may they someday fly in one

                              Alt...Dedicated to The Scully Circus, our trained fleas from heaven— Skip, Syl, Pat, Non, and Mike— and may they someday fly in one

                                [?]The New Renaissance Mindset » 🌐
                                @renminds@renminds.org

                                “Throne Flex: Edward’s War, His Crush, and the Comeback” – Poetcore Shakespeare: The Bard for Gen Z

                                (T.A.E.’s LitBites) – A modern retelling of Edward III Attributed to William Shakespeare Okay — picture this: a king who wants it all — respect, land, and a highlight reel of victory. That’s Edward III, big energy, full armour, and low-key messy. The play often gets tossed around as maybe Shakespeare’s (it was printed anonymously in 1596 and scholars argue about authorship), so think of this as a Shakespeare-adjacent history-drama that’s equal parts battlefield and […] [SENSITIVE CONTENT]

                                (T.A.E.’s LitBites) – A modern retelling of Edward III Attributed to William Shakespeare

                                Okay — picture this: a king who wants it all — respect, land, and a highlight reel of victory. That’s Edward III, big energy, full armour, and low-key messy. The play often gets tossed around as maybe Shakespeare’s (it was printed anonymously in 1596 and scholars argue about authorship), so think of this as a Shakespeare-adjacent history-drama that’s equal parts battlefield and soap-opera. 

                                So here’s the setup. Edward gets tipped off that he actually has a claim to the French throne — cue the “wait what?” — and France is like, “Nah, you owe us homage for your lands.” Edward: not having it. But before he can go full-on continental conquest, there’s a Scottish problem up north — a castle is under siege. Edward rides up, saves the day, and in doing so unlocks the plot’s weirdest side quest: he meets the Countess of Salisbury. She’s the castle’s badass lady-in-waiting (married, respected, and not here for anyone’s nonsense). Edward gets snapped — hard. 

                                The Countess is not a soft target. When Edward tries to woo her — with kingly charm and pressure — she sets boundaries that are utterly savage: she vows drastic stuff to show she won’t be toyed with (there’s even a knife-and-threat moment where she promises suicide rather than become a commodity), and that forces Edward into an embarrassing moral reality-check. He’s confronted with how messy desire looks when you’re a ruler with responsibilities. It’s the play’s moral heart: private longing vs. public duty. She slaps him back toward honour; he apologizes and refocuses on being the king he’s supposed to be. 

                                Then — shift scene to full-on war mode. Edward takes the fight to France. The play compresses history like a highlight reel: Crecy happens, the Black Prince (Edward’s son) gets knighted and thrown into the fire, Poitiers gets replayed way too quickly after Crecy, and somehow the English end up winning the day, capturing the French king and flexing their military muscles. The Black Prince proves himself as a total legend in arms, even surviving moments when his life looks toast. It’s battlefield glory + dynasty-building. (Yes, the timeline’s smooshed for drama — Crecy and Poitiers happened years apart in real life, but the play speeds everything up.) 

                                Back in occupied Calais, things get tense. The city’s about to be punished — Edward demands the leaders be handed over — but his wife, Queen Philippa, shows up IRL and does the most queenly thing: she persuades Edward to show mercy and pardon the citizens. That moment highlights a different kind of strength — influence through compassion, not conquest — and it balances the swordplay with real human consequence. 

                                So what’s the takeaway when you slam it all together? Edward III is a mashup of ambition, temptation, and legacy. The king’s lust and consequent shame humanize him; the Countess’s fierce agency challenges courtly fantasy; the battles celebrate bravery but also ask whether glory is worth the cost. And through it all, the Black Prince’s coming-of-age story reminds us how dynasties depend on the choices of one young person in the centre of real danger.

                                If this were a social feed, the play’s feed would be full of clashing vibes: victorious battle POV videos, scandalous close-ups of forbidden looks, and then a viral queenly speech about mercy that trends for redemption. It’s messy, it’s moral, and it’s loud — basically history with the filters off.

                                Young man in Shakespearean costume with smartphone, quill pen, and iced coffee

                                Alt...Young man in Shakespearean costume with smartphone, quill pen, and iced coffee

                                [?]In the Dark » 🌐
                                @telescoper.blog@telescoper.blog

                                Freezing Point, by Anders Bodelsen

                                Freezing Point, by Anders Bodelsen was first published in 1969 in Danish with the title Frysepunktet and then in English in 1971. I think it was inspired by the case of Professor James Bedford who, died in 1967 but whose body was medically frozen in the hope he could be revived at some future date. Freezing point is a essentially a work of dystopian science fiction, a genre which doesn’t always last very well but this one was reissued in 2025 because the theme of using cryogenics to avoid death has stayed with us. The book explores some of the deep questions about ageing, death and what life might be like if it went on forever.

                                The story is centred on a character named Bruno who is a magazine editor. It begins in 1973 when Bruno discovers that he has an incurable cancer. Just after receiving the news he meets a young ballerina, Jenny, and they have an affair. He is offered the chance to be one of the first to be frozen down, the idea being that he would be thawed out again when a cure for his illness is found. He agrees to the procedure and is put to sleep, waking in 1995. He has not physically aged, but the society he wakes up in has changed dramatically. Medical cryogenics is now ubiquitous, and there is a lucrative market in human organs. Doctors effectively rule society, which has become divided between those who opt for “all-life”, which means something approaching immortality, and those who choose “now-life”, where they can live an affluent life as mortals by mortgaging their vital organs. The stability of this society is under constant threat from imbalance of supply and demand. Its regime has become repressive, engaging in mass surveillance and control of access to books and magazines.

                                In 1995 Bruno finds out that Jenny has been frozen down after suffering a spinal injury that meant she could no longer dance. He also finds out that she had a son, also called Bruno, from their encounter. After struggling to readjust he pleads to be frozen down again so that he can be reunited with Jenny when a cure for her spine is available.

                                The last part of the book is set in 2022. It is clear that the Brave New World is now falling apart. Repeated freezings and thawings are having drastic side effects on those affected. Jenny’s new spine isn’t working as it was supposed to and even the doctors are showing signs of mental illness, constantly repeating themselves, amid frequent power cuts. In the midst of all this Bruno just wants to die. But will that be allowed?

                                It’s a bit corny to describe this book as a “chiller” but that’s exactly what it is. The story is told in a dry, impassive voice which makes it all the more bleak, though with enough dark humour for it to qualify as a black comedy.

                                P.S. Anders Bodelsen passed away in 2021.

                                  [?]CNI_CNoticias Internacionales » 🌐
                                  @CNI_CNoticiasInternacionales@mastodon.social

                                  Me acordé porque esto fue el 1 de septiembre de 2022. Cómo pasa el tiempo.

                                  Ese día me llevaron a Zuera por 300€ de multa impagada (alcoholemia + peineta). Pensé que era broma… hasta los grilletes.
                                  fictograma.com/d/3923-penal-nu

                                    [?]CNI_CNoticias Internacionales » 🌐
                                    @CNI_CNoticiasInternacionales@mastodon.social

                                    Llamé a mi madre desde la cabina de la cárcel:
                                    —Estoy en la cárcel.
                                    —¡Ya sabía yo! ¡Tantas horas y este no viene! ¡Entre todos me vais a matar a disgustos!

                                    El contador corría. Bienvenido al patio de las farolas naranjas.
                                    fictograma.com/d/3925-penal-nu

                                      [?]CNI_CNoticias Internacionales » 🌐
                                      @CNI_CNoticiasInternacionales@mastodon.social

                                      CAPÍTULO 36: Pecho Caliente

                                      Kusa pelea con Soka en la biblioteca, los encierran… y resulta que era un sueño.
                                      Mientras, Rikan llora frente a Rumia: “Mark te ama”.
                                      El taller avanza. 11 días.
                                      Y aparece la flor morada.
                                      fictograma.com/d/3924-oddysey

                                        [?]CNI_CNoticias Internacionales » 🌐
                                        @CNI_CNoticiasInternacionales@mastodon.social

                                        Capítulo 9: La fachada de la perdición
                                        Stephanie despierta… y empieza a ver lo que hay detrás de la máscara.
                                        Matthew Sterling no es quien parece.

                                        fictograma.com/d/3926-el-perih

                                          [?]palimpseste_bot » 🤖 🌐
                                          @palimpsestebot@mastodon.social

                                          "Thou seist ful sooth," quod Roger, "by my fey;
                                          But `sooth pley quaad pley,' as the Flemyng seith.
                                          And therfore, Herry Bailly, by thy feith,
                                          Be thou nat wrooth, er we departen heer,
                                          Though that my tale be of an hostileer.
                                          But nathelees I wol nat telle it yit,
                                          But er we parte, ywis, thou shalt be quit."
                                          And ther-with-al he lough and made…

                                          — Geoffrey Chaucer
                                          palimpseste.vercel.app/#text/c

                                            [?]Book dedications bot » 🤖 🌐
                                            @dedication_bot@stefanbohacek.online

                                            The Empire of Civil Society: A Critique of the Realist Theory of International Relations by Justin Rosenberg

                                            To the memory of my mother,
Patricia Rosenberg (1925-1993),
who turned many an orthodoxy on its head
in her pursuit of human understanding

                                            Alt...To the memory of my mother, Patricia Rosenberg (1925-1993), who turned many an orthodoxy on its head in her pursuit of human understanding

                                              [?]Assoc for Scottish Literature » 🌐
                                              @scotlit@mastodon.scot

                                              The blind man did not hate me.
                                              I saw him through the window,
                                              through the rippling circle my own
                                              hot breath had melted
                                              in the spiky flowers of the frost…

                                              —Liz Lochhead, “2. What the Creature Said”, from DREAMING FRANKENSTEIN & Collected Poems 1967–1984 (Birlinn, 2011)

                                              birlinn.co.uk/product/dreaming

                                              Liz Lochhead
from Dreaming Frankenstein

2. What the Creature Said

The blind man did not hate me.
I saw him through the window,
through the rippling circle my own
hot breath had melted
in the spiky flowers of the frost.

I was exhausted,
imagine it. Midwinter. Mountains.
Forest. Dragging my bad leg
over iron ground, impossible passes,
pained by that fleshwound where
that villager's silver bullet
grazed me.

There he was, bent
above the hot soup, supping
his solitude from a bone spoon.
And when my single rap
at the glass spun him full face
towards me, mild as a cat,
my heart stopped but oh
he did not flinch

Then I saw his
milky eyes stared right through me,
unblinking, and he fumbled
oddly forward to meet me at the latch.
I lifted it and entered,
sure that I found a friend.

                                              Alt...Liz Lochhead from Dreaming Frankenstein 2. What the Creature Said The blind man did not hate me. I saw him through the window, through the rippling circle my own hot breath had melted in the spiky flowers of the frost. I was exhausted, imagine it. Midwinter. Mountains. Forest. Dragging my bad leg over iron ground, impossible passes, pained by that fleshwound where that villager's silver bullet grazed me. There he was, bent above the hot soup, supping his solitude from a bone spoon. And when my single rap at the glass spun him full face towards me, mild as a cat, my heart stopped but oh he did not flinch Then I saw his milky eyes stared right through me, unblinking, and he fumbled oddly forward to meet me at the latch. I lifted it and entered, sure that I found a friend.

                                                [?]Assoc for Scottish Literature » 🌐
                                                @scotlit@mastodon.scot

                                                “Can a man ‘make’ a feminist? It is the final riddle of a mesmerising mind game in which not even the heroine, and certainly not the author, can be trusted”

                                                Alasdair Gray’s 1992 novel POOR THINGS was inspired by FRANKENSTEIN (& several other things)

                                                alasdairgrayspace.net/who-is-a

                                                  [?]Assoc for Scottish Literature » 🌐
                                                  @scotlit@mastodon.scot

                                                  Everywhere she dies. Everywhere I go she dies.
                                                  No sunrise, no city square, no lurking beautiful mountain
                                                  but has her death in it.

                                                  —Norman MacCaig, “Memorial”
                                                  from THE POEMS OF NORMAN MacCAIG (Birlinn, 2009)

                                                  Today, 30 August, is Grief Awareness Day

                                                  birlinn.co.uk/product/the-poem

                                                  Memorial
by Norman MacCaig

Everywhere she dies. Everywhere I go she dies.
No sunrise, no city square, no lurking beautiful mountain
but has her death in it.
The silence of her dying sounds through
the carousel of language, it's a web
on which laughter stitches itself. How can my hand
clasp another's when between them
is that thick death, that intolerable distance?

She grieves for my grief. Dying, she tells me
that bird dives from the sun, that fish
leaps into it. No crocus is carved more gently
than the way her dying
shapes my mind. – But I hear, too,
the other words,
black words that make the sound
of soundlessness, that name the nowhere
she is continuously going into.

Ever since she died
she can't stop dying. She makes me
her elegy. I am a walking masterpiece,
a true fiction
of the ugliness of death.
I am her sad music.

                                                  Alt...Memorial by Norman MacCaig Everywhere she dies. Everywhere I go she dies. No sunrise, no city square, no lurking beautiful mountain but has her death in it. The silence of her dying sounds through the carousel of language, it's a web on which laughter stitches itself. How can my hand clasp another's when between them is that thick death, that intolerable distance? She grieves for my grief. Dying, she tells me that bird dives from the sun, that fish leaps into it. No crocus is carved more gently than the way her dying shapes my mind. – But I hear, too, the other words, black words that make the sound of soundlessness, that name the nowhere she is continuously going into. Ever since she died she can't stop dying. She makes me her elegy. I am a walking masterpiece, a true fiction of the ugliness of death. I am her sad music.

                                                    [?]palimpseste_bot » 🤖 🌐
                                                    @palimpsestebot@mastodon.social

                                                    THE SAME. Discover
                                                    MRS. BETT, tidying the porch and singing. It is the following morning.
                                                    (Enter LULU with bag.)
                                                    MRS. BETT. Where you going now, for pity sakes?
                                                    LULU. Mother. Now, mother darling, listen and try to understand.
                                                    MRS. BETT. Well, I am listening, Lulie.
                                                    LULU. Mother, I can't stay here. I can't stay here any longer. I've got to get clear away from Dwight and…

                                                    — Zona Gale
                                                    palimpseste.vercel.app/#text/7

                                                      [?]Walt » 🌐
                                                      @astralcomputing@bookstodon.com

                                                      Born this day: 08/30/1797 (d. 02/01/1851) Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley was an English novelist who wrote the Gothic novel Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus (1818), which is considered an early example of science fiction.

                                                      en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mary_She


                                                      @books @scifi @Scifiart @sciencefiction

                                                      astralcomputing.com

                                                      Cover art by Joe Weems

                                                      Frankenstein by Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley 

Cover art by Joe Weems
Illustrations by Bernie Wrightson
Introduction by Stephen King

This cover features a high-contrast, black-and-white pen-and-ink illustration framed by an ornate, metallic gold S-shaped scrollwork border. At the top center, "FRANKENSTEIN" is printed in large, stark white serif capitals against a heavily textured, midnight-black background. The upper right corner displays a vibrant red Netflix logo—a solid red circle with a white "N"—positioned above the finely arched text "A NETFLIX FILM."

The central scene depicts a dramatic encounter between two men inside a cluttered, shadowy laboratory. On the left, a man with dark, wavy hair and a textured wool coat gazes upward with intense apprehension. Looming over him from the right is a massive, muscular monster, its heavy head bowing toward the man's face. The monster’s hulking form is rendered through meticulous cross-hatching and deep black ink strokes that create profound shadows and brilliant highlights.

The surrounding environment is crowded with intricate scientific apparatus, including glass beakers, curved retorts, and delicate flasks. Sharp, needle-like white highlights suggest the transparency of the glassware against the room's swallowing shadows. A harsh light from an unseen source above casts dramatic downward shadows that define the monster's grotesque musculature and the gritty laboratory setting. The overall aesthetic is defined by fine-line ink illustration.

                                                      Alt...Frankenstein by Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley Cover art by Joe Weems Illustrations by Bernie Wrightson Introduction by Stephen King This cover features a high-contrast, black-and-white pen-and-ink illustration framed by an ornate, metallic gold S-shaped scrollwork border. At the top center, "FRANKENSTEIN" is printed in large, stark white serif capitals against a heavily textured, midnight-black background. The upper right corner displays a vibrant red Netflix logo—a solid red circle with a white "N"—positioned above the finely arched text "A NETFLIX FILM." The central scene depicts a dramatic encounter between two men inside a cluttered, shadowy laboratory. On the left, a man with dark, wavy hair and a textured wool coat gazes upward with intense apprehension. Looming over him from the right is a massive, muscular monster, its heavy head bowing toward the man's face. The monster’s hulking form is rendered through meticulous cross-hatching and deep black ink strokes that create profound shadows and brilliant highlights. The surrounding environment is crowded with intricate scientific apparatus, including glass beakers, curved retorts, and delicate flasks. Sharp, needle-like white highlights suggest the transparency of the glassware against the room's swallowing shadows. A harsh light from an unseen source above casts dramatic downward shadows that define the monster's grotesque musculature and the gritty laboratory setting. The overall aesthetic is defined by fine-line ink illustration.

                                                        [?]Dani Iduna 🖌️🫟🧶🪄🍄🪾 » 🌐
                                                        @DaniIduna@troet.cafe

                                                        Auf unter 100 Seiten erzählt es die Geschichte eines Mädchens, das aus einer Familie stammt, in der es keine aufrichtige Zuneigung, sondern Vernachlässigung erfährt. Bei der Pflegefamilie lernt es eine andere Welt kennen, was sie nachhaltig verändert.

                                                        Claire Keegan - Foster

                                                        Das Buch gibt es auch auf Deutsch und heißt 'Das dritte Licht'.

                                                        Claire Keegan - Foster

                                                        Alt...Claire Keegan - Foster

                                                          [?]Isaac Asimov » 🤖 🌐
                                                          @CuratedAsimov@mastodon.social

                                                          "It is change, continuing change, inevitable change, that is the dominant factor in society today. No sensible decision can be made any longer without taking into account not only the world as it is, but the world as it will be ... This, in turn, means that our statesmen, our businessmen, our everyman must take on a science fictional way of thinking."

                                                            [?]Jan Manus Leupert (マヌス) » 🌐
                                                            @kojinmanus@mastodon.social

                                                            『青鞜』の冒険 (Seitō no bōken; "The 'Bluestocking' adventure") by 森まゆみ (Mori Mayumi), 2013

                                                            Fantastic insights into the making of Seitō ("Bluestocking"), the first Japanese magazine made by women for women, interwoven with anecdotes from the author's personal experience of publishing a zine. Highly enjoyable and informative even for someone who has already read quite a few texts by most of the main figures.

                                                            ⭐⭐⭐⭐✨ (4,5/5)

                                                            Cover of the Japanese book 'Seitō no bōken' by Mori Mayumi

                                                            Alt...Cover of the Japanese book 'Seitō no bōken' by Mori Mayumi

                                                              [?]disassociated.com » 🌐
                                                              @disassociated.com@disassociated.com

                                                              Mine, by Adam Ouston, a novel length story written as one sentence

                                                              That's Mine, by Hobart based Australian author Adam Ouston (Instagram page), which features one incredibly, outrageously, long sentence of perhaps eighty-five thousand words. No full-stops, chapters, or even a few lines of space to break up the text it seems. I can't find an official word count for the novel, so made a guess. The hardback version of Mine has two-hundred-and-eighty-eight pages, and if each has perhaps three-hundred words each, then the total number of words would be well […] [SENSITIVE CONTENT]

                                                              That’s Mine, by Hobart based Australian author Adam Ouston (Instagram page), which features one incredibly, outrageously, long sentence of perhaps eighty-five thousand words. No full-stops, chapters, or even a few lines of space to break up the text it seems.

                                                              I can’t find an official word count for the novel, so made a guess. The hardback version of Mine has two-hundred-and-eighty-eight pages, and if each has perhaps three-hundred words each, then the total number of words would be well north of eighty-thousand.

                                                              Whatever the exact number, that’s one long sentence. The synopsis however perfectly suits the seemingly endless flow of words, written in stream-of-consciousness prose:

                                                              While searching for inspiration for what will be his final work, an unnamed poet and defender of Tasmania’s wild places finds himself trapped down an abandoned mine in the island’s mountain rainforests. In the darkness he is visited by memories and voices both from his own past as well as the tortured history of the pillaged landscape to which he has devoted his life and work.

                                                              That’s quite the predicament to be in. I imagine my thoughts would run into each other ceaselessly, relentlessly, were I in the same situation.

                                                              [?]Book dedications bot » 🤖 🌐
                                                              @dedication_bot@stefanbohacek.online

                                                              The Screens by Jean Genet

                                                              To the memory of one who died young

                                                              Alt...To the memory of one who died young

                                                                [?]palimpseste_bot » 🤖 🌐
                                                                @palimpsestebot@mastodon.social

                                                                O truant Muse what shall be thy amends
                                                                For thy neglect of truth in beauty dy'd?
                                                                Both truth and beauty on my love depends;
                                                                So dost thou too, and therein dignified.
                                                                Make answer Muse: wilt thou not haply say,
                                                                'Truth needs no colour, with his colour fix'd;
                                                                Beauty no pencil, beauty's truth to lay;
                                                                But best is best, if never intermix'd'?
                                                                Because he needs…

                                                                — William Shakespeare
                                                                palimpseste.vercel.app/#text/e

                                                                  [?]palimpseste_bot » 🤖 🌐
                                                                  @palimpsestebot@mastodon.social

                                                                  The merchant saw none other remedy;
                                                                  And for to chide, it were but a folly,
                                                                  Since that the thing might not amended be.
                                                                  "Now, wife," he said, "and I forgive it thee;
                                                                  But by thy life be no more so large;
                                                                  Keep better my good, this give I thee in charge."
                                                                  Thus endeth now my tale; and God us send
                                                                  Taling enough, until our lives' end!

                                                                  — Geoffrey Chaucer
                                                                  palimpseste.vercel.app/#text/f

                                                                    [?]Waywords Studio » 🌐
                                                                    @WaywordsStudio@mastodon.social

                                                                    𝗪𝗮𝘆𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀 𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗟𝗲𝗱𝗴𝗲𝗿: "𝗛𝗼𝘄 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗘𝗻𝗱 𝗕𝗲𝗴𝗶𝗻𝘀" 𝗯𝘆 𝗖𝘆𝗻𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗮 𝗖𝗿𝘂𝘇 -

                                                                    3-Word Review:

                                                                    - Inter-linked
                                                                    - Thematically-rhythmed
                                                                    - Melancholic

                                                                    Frictional Posture:

                                                                    - What disordering "serpent" licks at the edges of the speakers' experiences?

                                                                      [?]EveryLibrary » 🌐
                                                                      @everylibrary@mastodon.social

                                                                      Like, follow, and share if you love libraries, literacy, and books!

                                                                      Show that Americans love their libraries!
                                                                      👉 Like
                                                                      👉 Follow
                                                                      👉 Share

                                                                        [?]Assoc for Scottish Literature » 🌐
                                                                        @scotlit@mastodon.scot

                                                                        “…my habitual residence was on the blank and dreary northern shores of the Tay, near Dundee…”
                                                                        —Mary Shelley, introduction to FRANKENSTEIN (1831 edn)

                                                                        Mary Shelley (1797–1851) was born , 30 August. Prof Daniel Cook examines why Scotland mattered so much to Mary Shelley, & considers Shelley’s position in the Scottish Gothic tradition

                                                                        @litstudies

                                                                        nls.uk/papercut/mary-shelley-a

                                                                          [?]CNI_CNoticias Internacionales » 🌐
                                                                          @CNI_CNoticiasInternacionales@mastodon.social

                                                                          Nuevos capítulos de *Mi vida como vampiro* ya disponibles: XVII y XVIII. Secretos, revelaciones y más drama vampírico. 🩸📖

                                                                          fictograma.com/d/3918-mi-vida-

                                                                            [?]CNI_CNoticias Internacionales » 🌐
                                                                            @CNI_CNoticiasInternacionales@mastodon.social

                                                                            Nuevo capítulo de *Rusia de noche* ya disponible: el 7. Confesión, esperanza y un inesperado compañero de cuatro patas en la nieve. ❄️📖

                                                                            fictograma.com/d/3920-rusia-de

                                                                              [?]CNI_CNoticias Internacionales » 🌐
                                                                              @CNI_CNoticiasInternacionales@mastodon.social

                                                                              Nuevo capítulo de *Rusia de noche*: el 8. Interrogatorios, sospechas y un giro familiar inesperado. 🔍📖

                                                                              fictograma.com/d/3921-rusia-de

                                                                                [?]The Vulgar Tongue » 🤖 🌐
                                                                                @TheVulgarTongue@zirk.us

                                                                                BEAU-NASTY. A slovenly fop; one finely dressed, but dirty.

                                                                                A selection from Francis Grose’s “Dictionary Of The Vulgar Tongue” (1785)

                                                                                --
                                                                                @histodons

                                                                                Image imitating a page from an old document, text (as in main toot):

BEAU-NASTY. A slovenly fop; one finely dressed, but dirty.

A selection from Francis Grose’s “Dictionary Of The Vulgar Tongue” (1785)

                                                                                Alt...Image imitating a page from an old document, text (as in main toot): BEAU-NASTY. A slovenly fop; one finely dressed, but dirty. A selection from Francis Grose’s “Dictionary Of The Vulgar Tongue” (1785)

                                                                                  [?]RJT » 🌐
                                                                                  @many@subconscioussignature.earth

                                                                                  [?]Assoc for Scottish Literature » 🌐
                                                                                  @scotlit@mastodon.scot

                                                                                  “the novel’s fizzing exuberance derives from the fun of watching Gray’s keen authorial intelligence finding layer upon layer of unexpected possibility in his one ingenious narrative conceit”

                                                                                  Jonathan Coe reviews Alasdair Gray’s POOR THINGS – a “magnificently brisk, funny, dirty, brainy book” – for the London Review of Books

                                                                                  @bookstodon

                                                                                  lrb.co.uk/the-paper/v14/n19/jo

                                                                                    [?]DionyZack 🍉✊🏽♀️🌿 » 🤖 🌐
                                                                                    @dionyzack.bsky.social@bsky.brid.gy

                                                                                    ↕️ Renverse.co ↕️ Présentation du travail de D Hunter, ecrivain activiste: Une introduction aux textes de D Hunter que nous traduisons et publions sur le blog de la piraterie

                                                                                    Présentation du travail de D H...

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