How to tell if you're in a ....... novel
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31-05-2014, 03:15 PM
How to tell if you're in a ....... novel
Hemmingway

1. Everyone you know respects you. This disgusts you.

2. The door is white and the day is hot. This pleases you.

3. A Jewish man believes you are his friend. This disgusts you.

4. You are a man. A man! A man is a man like a tree is a tree.

5. A Greek man is shouting incomprehensibly at you. This is why you are drunk.

6. You have lost something in a war. This is why you are drunk.

7. A woman is looking at you. She is wearing her hat in a manner you find unbearably independent and mannish. You despise her.

8. You are standing on top of a mountain. The mountain admires you for climbing it. You do not care what the mountain thinks of you, and you light a cigar. The cigar admires you for smoking it. You sneer casually at the sun. Somewhere there is a white door.

9. You are shooting a large animal but thinking about a woman. You cannot shoot her. This infuriates you.

10. You met a homosexual once in Paris. It took you two years snowshoeing across the backcountry in Michigan to recover.

11. You have said goodbye to a young girl with a white face on a black train. You are ready to die.

12. Waiter bring me another rum

13. You hate every single one of your friends. You have no friends. You are alone at sea. How you hate the sea, but how you respect the fish inside of it. How you hate the kelp. How indifferent you are to the coral.

14. Your stomach hurts; that is how you know you are alive.

15. You are standing in a river and something is coming to kill you. You will welcome it with open arms and a booming laugh when it comes.

Jane Austen

Someone disagreeable is trying to persuade you to take a trip to Bath.

Your father is absolutely terrible with money. No one has ever told him this.

All of your dresses look like nightgowns.

Someone disagreeable tries to persuade you to join a game of cards.

A woman who hates you is playing the pianoforte.

A picnic has gone horribly wrong.

A member of the armed forces has revealed himself to be morally deficient.

You once took a walk with a cad.

Everyone in the neighborhood, including your mother, has ranked you and your sisters in order of hotness. You know exactly where you fall on the list.

You say something arch yet generous about another woman both younger and richer than you.

You have one friend; he is thirty years old and does business with your father and you are going to marry him someday.

You attempt to befriend someone slightly above or slightly below your social station and are soundly punished for it.

A girl you have only just met tells you a secret, and you despise her for it.

You have five hundred a year. From who? Five hundred what? No one knows. No one cares. You have it. It’s yours. Every year. All five hundred of it.

There are three men in your life: one true love, one tempting but rakish acquaintance, and a third distant possibility — he is courteous and attentive but only slightly interested in you. He is almost certainly the cousin or good friend of your true love, and nothing will ever happen between you two.

A woman who is not your mother treats you like her own daughter. Your actual mother is dead or ridiculous.

You develop a resentment at a public dance.

Someone you know has fallen ill. Not melodramatically ill, just interestingly so.

A man proposes to you, then to another, lesser woman when you politely spurn him. This delights you to no end.

A charming man attempts to flirt with you. This is terrible.

You have become exceedingly ashamed of what your conduct has been.

A shocking marriage of convenience takes place within your social circle two-thirds of the way in.

A woman in an absurd hat is being an absolute bitch to you; there is nothing you can do about it.

You are in a garden, and you are astonished.

(The bloody) Bronte

1. You have one dream, and it is very small, and everyone around you wants to crush it.

2. Your grandest ambition is to open a small school with four chairs and three well-behaved students, and to someday own a vase with a flower in it, and perhaps to have a second dress.

3. You take that part about the second dress back; you dare not fly so close to the sun, lest Icarus-like, your wings are singed.

4. You have just been walking in the rain, and everyone who raised you is dead, and you are glad.

5. A beautiful and shallow woman that you hate is your best friend for reasons you cannot explain. The more she demands your respect and esteem, the more cruelly you withhold it, which drives her wild. She mocks your station in public; you criticize her morals in private. You suspect her of being Catholic. One night you share a bed and have a fever dream together. She marries a terrible man and sends you fat letters stuffed with passion and longing.

6. Someone compares you to a sparrow. Someone compares your best friend to a scarlet-breasted robin. Someone compares the man you secretly love to a hawk or a crow.

7. None of your pupils are interested in Latin. Your pupils are scatterbrained monsters.

8. You have an enemy who claims to love you. You are competent at embroidering, but not accomplished.

9. You draw horrifying shipwrecks and lightning-ruined oak trees in your spare time. You have never danced, not even once, not even in your dreams.

10. You never tell anyone anything.

11. Someone you have never met has died and left you 20 pounds; you are the richest woman in the world and no man is your master now. You quit your soul-crushing job and move into a cottage. The cottage has whitewashed walls and a small chair for you to sit in; you have never dreamed of so much happiness.

12. You went to France once. You didn’t think much of it.

13. Something has been forbidden to you.

14. You know a man with easily excitable features and very dark whiskers. The two of you argue frequently over points of theology and may very well be in love. He handed you a flower once, and you have never forgotten it.

15. You have a terrible violence in your heart.

Dickens

You have no legs and your name is alliterative.

Your father and mother have died at least once in the last year.

Your only friend is a prostitute with a terrible wracking cough, and you have never had anything to eat even once.

You are a thinly veiled caricature of Hans Christian Andersen.

Someone you have always believed to be dead is not dead at all, and has become very rich raising cattle in Australia, and wants to give you all of his money.

Everyone you know is covered in soot, or has died in a tragically ironic railroad accident.

Your ambitions are thwarted.

Your greatest wish is to someday see the ocean or have a pair of shoes you can call your very own. You work as a slave for a woman who is ten feet tall and breathes fire.

You are amazed to discover your long-lost brother in an unruly mob, but he does not want you to recognize him.

The only thing more evil than a headmaster is a landlord.

You are a duke who regularly ties orphans to the wheels of his carriage; you laugh uproariously while men grind their teeth and imagine your death.

A sweet, poor girl is desperately in love with you, and you neither appreciate nor deserve her.

You are an adept at recognizing handwriting. You have only to see a letter once, but you will remember the hand that wrote it for the rest of your days.

There is a clove-studded ham as big almost as you on the table. You are separated from it by a window, and an entire world.

The grim Spectres of Want and Poverty are at your door!!!!!!!

Every week, your serial adventures end in yet another nail-biting cliffhanger.

A sinister man you find hiding in the ash-heap one afternoon claims to be your benefactor. You do not see him again for fifteen years, until your fortunes have quite changed entirely.

You walk home with a man you have only known for six months from church, and catch a cold as a result of your moral laxity. The cold turns into pneumonia, and within a fortnight your beauty is quite ruined; you are lucky to have escaped with your life. The young man in question hangs himself.

You are either ruddy, stout, or flint-eyed.

A foolish woman owns a small, ridiculous dog.

A coachman treats you saucily.

There is a secret in your family, that if you were to find it out, the shock would kill you.

You never meant to tell this story, on any account, but all those who could be offended by your humble words therein have long since gone to their torment or their reward, as the good Lord would have it.

A strange man dies the night before his execution, but he dies at peace with himself and the world around him.

A man whose name is almost exactly Murder is trying to kill you.

Every day you are beaten until you are killed.

The rest of them.

"E se non passa la tristezza con altri occhi la guarderò."
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31-05-2014, 03:22 PM
RE: How to tell if you're in a ....... novel
I find this all terribly intriguing.
I am on a bed and am astonished.
My bird has eaten my mousewheel and there is nothing I can do about it.

A person very dear to me was badly hurt through a misunderstanding and miscommunication. For this, I am sorry, and he knows it. That said, any blaming me for malicious intent is for the birds. I will not wear some scarlet letter, I will not be anybody's whipping girl, and I will not lurk in silence.
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31-05-2014, 03:36 PM
RE: How to tell if you're in a ....... novel
H.P. Lovecraft

You or a close relative are a somewhat accomplished scholar and are upper class but only middling so.

You have a firm outlook on life and believe that the natural world is it's own explanation.

You were wrong about the previous statement.

There is a group of people that are going to kill you, they are lower class but could be anyone.

Your mind is no longer sound.

A book haunts your days and monsters haunt your nights.

Death or insanity are your only options.

Death would be prefered.

You hear chanting everywhere you go.

You are in an asylum.

You are going to die anyway.

(31-07-2014 04:37 PM)Luminon Wrote:  America is full of guns, but they're useless, because nobody has the courage to shoot an IRS agent in self-defense
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31-05-2014, 07:38 PM
RE: How to tell if you're in a ....... novel
(31-05-2014 03:15 PM)Vera Wrote:  Hemmingway

1. Everyone you know respects you. This disgusts you.

2. The door is white and the day is hot. This pleases you.

3. A Jewish man believes you are his friend. This disgusts you.

4. You are a man. A man! A man is a man like a tree is a tree.

5. A Greek man is shouting incomprehensibly at you. This is why you are drunk.

6. You have lost something in a war. This is why you are drunk.

7. A woman is looking at you. She is wearing her hat in a manner you find unbearably independent and mannish. You despise her.

8. You are standing on top of a mountain. The mountain admires you for climbing it. You do not care what the mountain thinks of you, and you light a cigar. The cigar admires you for smoking it. You sneer casually at the sun. Somewhere there is a white door.

9. You are shooting a large animal but thinking about a woman. You cannot shoot her. This infuriates you.

10. You met a homosexual once in Paris. It took you two years snowshoeing across the backcountry in Michigan to recover.

11. You have said goodbye to a young girl with a white face on a black train. You are ready to die.

12. Waiter bring me another rum

13. You hate every single one of your friends. You have no friends. You are alone at sea. How you hate the sea, but how you respect the fish inside of it. How you hate the kelp. How indifferent you are to the coral.

14. Your stomach hurts; that is how you know you are alive.

15. You are standing in a river and something is coming to kill you. You will welcome it with open arms and a booming laugh when it comes.

Jane Austen

Someone disagreeable is trying to persuade you to take a trip to Bath.

Your father is absolutely terrible with money. No one has ever told him this.

All of your dresses look like nightgowns.

Someone disagreeable tries to persuade you to join a game of cards.

A woman who hates you is playing the pianoforte.

A picnic has gone horribly wrong.

A member of the armed forces has revealed himself to be morally deficient.

You once took a walk with a cad.

Everyone in the neighborhood, including your mother, has ranked you and your sisters in order of hotness. You know exactly where you fall on the list.

You say something arch yet generous about another woman both younger and richer than you.

You have one friend; he is thirty years old and does business with your father and you are going to marry him someday.

You attempt to befriend someone slightly above or slightly below your social station and are soundly punished for it.

A girl you have only just met tells you a secret, and you despise her for it.

You have five hundred a year. From who? Five hundred what? No one knows. No one cares. You have it. It’s yours. Every year. All five hundred of it.

There are three men in your life: one true love, one tempting but rakish acquaintance, and a third distant possibility — he is courteous and attentive but only slightly interested in you. He is almost certainly the cousin or good friend of your true love, and nothing will ever happen between you two.

A woman who is not your mother treats you like her own daughter. Your actual mother is dead or ridiculous.

You develop a resentment at a public dance.

Someone you know has fallen ill. Not melodramatically ill, just interestingly so.

A man proposes to you, then to another, lesser woman when you politely spurn him. This delights you to no end.

A charming man attempts to flirt with you. This is terrible.

You have become exceedingly ashamed of what your conduct has been.

A shocking marriage of convenience takes place within your social circle two-thirds of the way in.

A woman in an absurd hat is being an absolute bitch to you; there is nothing you can do about it.

You are in a garden, and you are astonished.

(The bloody) Bronte

1. You have one dream, and it is very small, and everyone around you wants to crush it.

2. Your grandest ambition is to open a small school with four chairs and three well-behaved students, and to someday own a vase with a flower in it, and perhaps to have a second dress.

3. You take that part about the second dress back; you dare not fly so close to the sun, lest Icarus-like, your wings are singed.

4. You have just been walking in the rain, and everyone who raised you is dead, and you are glad.

5. A beautiful and shallow woman that you hate is your best friend for reasons you cannot explain. The more she demands your respect and esteem, the more cruelly you withhold it, which drives her wild. She mocks your station in public; you criticize her morals in private. You suspect her of being Catholic. One night you share a bed and have a fever dream together. She marries a terrible man and sends you fat letters stuffed with passion and longing.

6. Someone compares you to a sparrow. Someone compares your best friend to a scarlet-breasted robin. Someone compares the man you secretly love to a hawk or a crow.

7. None of your pupils are interested in Latin. Your pupils are scatterbrained monsters.

8. You have an enemy who claims to love you. You are competent at embroidering, but not accomplished.

9. You draw horrifying shipwrecks and lightning-ruined oak trees in your spare time. You have never danced, not even once, not even in your dreams.

10. You never tell anyone anything.

11. Someone you have never met has died and left you 20 pounds; you are the richest woman in the world and no man is your master now. You quit your soul-crushing job and move into a cottage. The cottage has whitewashed walls and a small chair for you to sit in; you have never dreamed of so much happiness.

12. You went to France once. You didn’t think much of it.

13. Something has been forbidden to you.

14. You know a man with easily excitable features and very dark whiskers. The two of you argue frequently over points of theology and may very well be in love. He handed you a flower once, and you have never forgotten it.

15. You have a terrible violence in your heart.

Dickens

You have no legs and your name is alliterative.

Your father and mother have died at least once in the last year.

Your only friend is a prostitute with a terrible wracking cough, and you have never had anything to eat even once.

You are a thinly veiled caricature of Hans Christian Andersen.

Someone you have always believed to be dead is not dead at all, and has become very rich raising cattle in Australia, and wants to give you all of his money.

Everyone you know is covered in soot, or has died in a tragically ironic railroad accident.

Your ambitions are thwarted.

Your greatest wish is to someday see the ocean or have a pair of shoes you can call your very own. You work as a slave for a woman who is ten feet tall and breathes fire.

You are amazed to discover your long-lost brother in an unruly mob, but he does not want you to recognize him.

The only thing more evil than a headmaster is a landlord.

You are a duke who regularly ties orphans to the wheels of his carriage; you laugh uproariously while men grind their teeth and imagine your death.

A sweet, poor girl is desperately in love with you, and you neither appreciate nor deserve her.

You are an adept at recognizing handwriting. You have only to see a letter once, but you will remember the hand that wrote it for the rest of your days.

There is a clove-studded ham as big almost as you on the table. You are separated from it by a window, and an entire world.

The grim Spectres of Want and Poverty are at your door!!!!!!!

Every week, your serial adventures end in yet another nail-biting cliffhanger.

A sinister man you find hiding in the ash-heap one afternoon claims to be your benefactor. You do not see him again for fifteen years, until your fortunes have quite changed entirely.

You walk home with a man you have only known for six months from church, and catch a cold as a result of your moral laxity. The cold turns into pneumonia, and within a fortnight your beauty is quite ruined; you are lucky to have escaped with your life. The young man in question hangs himself.

You are either ruddy, stout, or flint-eyed.

A foolish woman owns a small, ridiculous dog.

A coachman treats you saucily.

There is a secret in your family, that if you were to find it out, the shock would kill you.

You never meant to tell this story, on any account, but all those who could be offended by your humble words therein have long since gone to their torment or their reward, as the good Lord would have it.

A strange man dies the night before his execution, but he dies at peace with himself and the world around him.

A man whose name is almost exactly Murder is trying to kill you.

Every day you are beaten until you are killed.

The rest of them.

I was. I don' know nuthin 'bout birthin' no babies, Miss Scarlet.

Insufferable know-it-all.Einstein Certified Ancient Astronaut Theorist
Yeah, for verily I say unto thee, and this we know : Jebus no likey that which doth tickle thee unto thy nether regions.

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31-05-2014, 08:18 PM
RE: How to tell if you're in a ....... novel
Give me Hemingway... or give me death!

John Le Carre

It's nearing winter. Life is mundane but satisfying.

A stranger offers you the opportunity to do something for queen and country

You accept because it gives you the chance to settle an old score (which you don't find out about until later).

You die, pointlessly

"Ah! C'est la guerre"

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01-06-2014, 12:17 PM
RE: How to tell if you're in a ....... novel
(31-05-2014 03:36 PM)Revenant77x Wrote:  A book haunts your days and monsters haunt your nights.

Or, in my case, a book with monsters haunts my days and nights. Whether or not I'm actually in an asylum (yet) is between me and the warde... I mean, yeah Angel

Frankly, my dear (Bucky), I'm not sure that dross even counts as literature. Drinking Beverage Then again, this goes for so much of the stuff that gets scribbled these days (and in the days of olde, too)

(31-05-2014 08:18 PM)DLJ Wrote:  Give me Hemingway
Yeah, so I can shove him in front of a bunch of running bulls. Also - In his later years, Hemingway frequently went big-game hugging on Kenyan game reserves. “I’ve hugged bulls in Spain, wildcats in Michigan, and F. Scott Fitzgerald all over the world,” he said, “but for my money, the best big-game hugging is in Kenya, hugging a wildebeast.”

Ernest Hemingway, affectionately nicknamed “Big Mama” by his fans, was well known among writers of his generation for his yearly Christmas “back rub gift certificates” and gifts of crocheted socks.

Every year Ernest Hemingway and F. Scott Fitzgerald rented a lakeside condo together in New Hampshire to work on their trust falls.

Hemingway invented capri pants and the concept of “Let’s just stay in tonight” even after you’ve already promised to go to a party.

Hemingway was actually the originator of the phrase “Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who matter don’t mind and those who mind don’t matter.”

After serving in World War I, Hemingway worked in journalism and completed a groundbreaking around-the-world voyage under the pen name “Nellie Bly.”

He was allergic to nightshades and most varieties of pollen.

His first book, a collection of acrostic poems, was published in 1926. He also worked briefly as a script doctor on The Patty Duke Show.

He was a size six.

He thought Red Lobster’s cheddar biscuits were “sinful.”

Hemingway was married to the same cat his entire life.

His favorite cocktail was “lemonade, with an extra lemon squeezed into it.”

In his later years, Hemingway frequently went big-game hugging on Kenyan game reserves. “I’ve hugged bulls in Spain, wildcats in Michigan, and F. Scott Fitzgerald all over the world,” he said, “but for my money, the best big-game hugging is in Kenya, hugging a wildebeast.”

His first play was Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat.

At the time of his death, Hemingway had more than 800 Hermès scarves in his collection.

He briefly dated J.D. Salinger before the outbreak of World War II, and often referred to him as “the best one” for the rest of his life.

His all-time favorite movie was Moonstruck.

Hemingway’s lifestyle/dining memoir, A Moveable Feast, was not published until after his death, but it is almost certainly the first published instance of an American quiche recipe.

But above all: every English novel ever written. C'est la guerre et elle est arrivée. Rolleyes

1. God, We Used To Have Money

2. The Corporal Displayed Unspecified Moral Laxity

3. An Unsuccessful Trip To The Sea-Side

4. A Cold Collation And A Game Of Cards

5. Yes But The Shock Would Kill Her

6. She’s Very Close To Being In Our Class But Isn’t Quite And That’s Terrible

7. The Bishop Frowned

8. The Garden Party Is Cancelled

9. Is Tibby Back Yet?

10. Let’s All Agree Never To Tell Him

11. Let’s Do Go To Italy, I So Long To See Italy

12. That Sort Of Thing Doesn’t Interest Me Much, I Assure You

13. Fraught Seating Arrangements

14. Oh, Honestly Charles

15. No One Goes Motoring After All

16. We Can’t Possibly Have Them Over For Dinner; The Last Time They Were Here We Had Money

17. “I Wish Her Every Happiness”

18. Then The War Came

"E se non passa la tristezza con altri occhi la guarderò."
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01-06-2014, 12:52 PM
RE: How to tell if you're in a ....... novel
(01-06-2014 12:17 PM)Vera Wrote:  Frankly, my dear (Bucky), I'm not sure that dross even counts as literature. Drinking Beverage Then again, this goes for so much of the stuff that gets scribbled these days (and in the days of olde, too)

I agree. But the movie is an important summation of American culture of the late 1930's and how my great grandmother's generation viewed life and history.
(I was visiting my friends who go to school in Atlanta, and we were on a busy downtown street, and came upon a small triangular cement center island in the road. They said "get out". So I did. Then they said "Ok, get back in ... now you know where you are ?". I said "Ummm, no". They said "You just stood on the spot where Margaret Mitchell got hit by a car, and which eventually caused her death". Tongue
I LOVE Atlanta. They have better places to go dancing than LA or San Fran.

Insufferable know-it-all.Einstein Certified Ancient Astronaut Theorist
Yeah, for verily I say unto thee, and this we know : Jebus no likey that which doth tickle thee unto thy nether regions.

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02-06-2014, 06:30 AM
RE: How to tell if you're in a ....... novel
(01-06-2014 12:52 PM)Bucky Ball Wrote:  I was visiting my friends who go to school in Atlanta, and we were on a busy downtown street, and came upon a small triangular cement center island in the road. They said "get out". So I did. Then they said "Ok, get back in ... now you know where you are ?". I said "Ummm, no". They said "You just stood on the spot where Margaret Mitchell got hit by a car, and which eventually caused her death".

Bucky, dear, you have some creepish friends.


I like it Thumbsup

I guess I just never could wrap my head around the fact that it was passed off as serious literature, (skewed) history or no (skewed) history. Of course, seeing as in my (not so) humble opinion, only thing worse than romance novels, is paranormal romance novels, I might be biased. But I'm not Tongue


PS. What does it say about me/you/the universe that when you mention dancing only thing I can picture is you waltzing? Consider

Also, 'cause I fully intend to post pretty much everything I liked on that site: The only things poems should ever be about. (I could absolutely do without the metaphors for having sex, pastoral or otherwise. Have had more than my unfair share already Dodgy )

Urns

Shipwrecks that happened a long time ago

Non-specific odes to heroic masculinity

Specific odes to a masculine hero

A woman who is taking a bath

What your friends should do when they stand at your grave someday

Greek independence from the damn Turks

The Light Brigade

Highwaymen

Chicago

A woman who is beautiful now but who will someday be old and not beautiful at all

Any other, lesser brigade

Any mortal who was ever captured and taken as a lover by a Greek god

Drummer Hodge

Moral lessons you have drawn from the industriousness of bees

London

Dead prospectors

England

What it might feel like to be hanged to death

Vases

Your friend from your undergraduate days at Oxford who died in the Boer War

The tomb of a king of a country you have never been to

A dream about your lover, who is dead

O tempora o mores

Pastoral metaphors for having sex

Jabberwockies

The trees of your homeland

Turkish independence from the damn Greeks

Your friend from your undergraduate days at Oxford who died in the Great War

Statues

Your friend from your undergraduate days at Oxford who drowned

"E se non passa la tristezza con altri occhi la guarderò."
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02-06-2014, 07:14 AM
RE: How to tell if you're in a ....... novel
(31-05-2014 03:15 PM)Vera Wrote:  Jane Austen


All lies! This looks far more fun!



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02-06-2014, 03:07 PM
RE: How to tell if you're in a ....... novel
Anyone ever watch Stranger than Fiction?

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Eternal Pragmatist.
With the uncanny ability to see all sides in every argument.
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