>and and and and and
>like like like like like
>some some some some
>he spat
>he squatted
>they rode
>[random Spanish word]
whoa what a masterpiece
>and and and and and. >like like like like like. >some some some some. >he spat. >he squatted
>and and and and and
>like like like like like
>some some some some
>he spat
>he squatted
>they rode
>[random Spanish word]
whoa what a masterpiece
Yeah sure you can simplify anything and make it sound like shit, also stop posting BM, post suttree which is the superior cormacbook (112 pages in :))
>suttree which is the superior cormacbook
True
Suttree is a dogshit rip-off of Huck Finn without the charm, it's his worst novel easily.
Who gives a frick about Huck finn im talking about suttree over here, does Huck finn have a resident melon-mounting maniac? Yeah didn't fricking think so
Suttree is better. His worst novel is his first one.
>Suttree is better. His worst novel is his first one.
Suttree was his first novel. It is juvenalia.
Nobody appears to know on IQfy what Juvenalia is, or what its function is in the life cycle of authorial production.
His first published novel was The Orchard Keeper
kek what a homosexual. here's another obsessed schizo
>His first published novel
>published
You don't understand what Juvenalia is either do you?
You can't even spell that word, homosexual. It's juvenilia, not "juvenalia". Fricking anglos and their open vowels just like their buttholes. It can't be juvenilia if it wasn't produced in youth. Suttree was published as his 3rd novel. When he published the other two, he was still working on Suttree. It's not juvenilia just because its beginnings were in youth.
It's his 4th
Plays aren't novels
Frick off sep. Orchard Keeper actually explores Macky's real problem. Suttree raises it twice. Suttree is juvenayyylia c**t.
>Orchard Keeper
>Outer Dark
>Child of God
>Suttrer
Learn to count homosexual.
Third published novel.
It’s not juvenilia if it wasn’t produced in youth, numbnuts. He worked on it for years. It’s a professional work.
>another episode of anglos voraciously filling their mouths with Latin words they don't know the meaning of just because they sound cool
>juvenalia
>In classical antiquity, the Juvenalia, or Ludi Juvenales (Gr Ἱουβενάλια ὥσπερ τινὰ νεανισκεύματα), were scenic games instituted by Nero in 59 AD, at the age of 21, in commemoration of his shaving his beard for the first time, thus indicating that he had passed from youth into manhood. These games were not celebrated in the circus, but in a private theatre erected in a pleasure-ground (nemus), and consisted of every kind of theatrical performance, Greek and Roman plays, mimetic pieces, and the like.
Interesting, I learn something new and different everyday.
>Suttre is not juvenilia and not juvenalia either
lol
orchard keeper is even wordier than suttree
What a load of nonsense
>X is just a Y version of Z
Please shut the frick up
But it's absolutely true in Suttree's case, except with worse, more boring characters.
Plebs will disagree.
>>and and and and and
Thanks, now I know I don't need to read that shit.
>a legion of horribles
boom. Roasted.
He was 26 when he started writing Suttree lmao not exactly a teenager. Juvenilia my ass.
What's Orwell's first publishable novel then? Please note, not published.
Couldn’t give two shits about Orwell, pleb. Cormac started writing Suttree when he was 26 and published it at 46, after two decades of intermittent work. He wrote and published three books before that one. He married, reproduced, got in college, dropped out, etc. Juvenilia is something you complete when you’re like 16 and publish later in life. Not something that had its seed when you were almost 30. You’re just a stubborn homosexual arguing in bad faith to attempt to diminish a book you dislike.
It is worse than Burning Chrome
Does it matter what order I read McCarthys books in?
only the border trilogy. Otherwise go nuts.
I'd suggest Suttree
By this logic, iliad is just description of characters and darkness filling their eyes after they die.
It’s not as conmon as Corncob’s shit
>They stood reeking.
>He spat.
>They stood reeking.
>He spat.
>They stood reeking.
>He spat.
>They stood on the precipice of a northward yardang while lightning silently struck across the vast barchans and salatations like a recently vindicated god of peculiar origin and reeked and spat and the lightning reflected like a flashpan of molten ignimbrite lit by he who may be referred to as a spectacularly tremendous embodiment of the deserts own will and the globermallows and the creosote and the joshua trees and the cholla and the aloe and the sanguaros shimmered on the pan like a ousia trapped betwixt befuddled escarpments.
>The kid overlooked this and spat.
>the kid curved the corner and passed the oakslats and rubworn shelving to his left and stood silent in the economics section. He drew threadthin the piece of mint gum in his mouth between his teeth and tongue, his jaw loudly settling like a wild whipcrack in a sweltering desert heat.
>he picked up a copy of Rothbard's Man, Economy, and State and edged the tome against the sunlight crashing from the rear window lined with dirty ratchel in swathes of dustladen rays like hell's own stinking vapors.
>he began to sweat
>whats that there
>the boy looked to his left and there stood el hombre de jalisco in an almagre aguayo wrapped slovenly around a sullen sark topped in a faded sombrero looking down into the center of a jacketless hardcover. He swigged his pulque and wiped his mouth. He ran his thumb down the soft edge of the pages feeling out the rimple and spat in the spine of the book and slammed it shut
>needa water these words here. theys the seedling of an infant mind n this'll round out theys intentions n give it meaning real meaning now
>so what's there
>what
>that there in yer paws boy
>nothin
>sure looks like somethin
>its a book on economics
>economics? dint ye know thas a dismal science? sorry science that is there fer sure. ain't no hearth in't no place n space fer the heart
>ye pick'n up son? its a sorry way'a life a sorry way'a thinkin its a heavensent grief mask'd in graphs and plotpoints all n' the purpose of steepin heavy in ye heart't make it drop to ye guts'n pine fer death
>el hombre stepped a few feet back abreast and reached for a copy of Rich Dad Poor Dad and heaved it towards the kid
>he dropped it
>ye want purpose? thet there book is no demon. thet there is a baleful angel thets brought you in here n now to meet me to gentle ye into sanity
>itll change yer life if it don't kill yer ass first.
>the kid took the book to the counter and purchased the book, and with it took home a complimentary tortilla. and he left.