/lit/ - Literature

>Snow-Balls have flown their Arcs

What do you make of the callback to GR at the start of M&D?

Does it use the motif of the arc, but now with the snowballs to signal a change in tone into something more cheerful and playful?

Or are we to take it that war never changes (not to mention our bloodthirsty nature is already present at childhood), only the tools used to wage it?

>"It’s like a Woman, isn’t it, you look at each other, you think Of course not, she thinks Of course not,— yet the Alternatives hang about, don’t they, like Wraiths."

>"Let us see. Well, will you look at that." A sort of long black Filament yet connects her to the Limb of the Sun, tho’ she be moved well onto its Face, much like an Ink-Drop about to fall from the Quill of a forgetful Scribbler,- sidewise, of course,- "Quick! someone, secure the Time,- ". This, or odd behavior like it, is going on all over the World all day long that fifth and sixth of June, in Latin, in Chinese, in Polish, in Silence,- upon Roof-Tops and Mountain Peaks, out of Bed-chamber windows, close together in the naked sunlight whilst the Wife minds the Beats of the Clock,- thro’ Gregorians and Newtonians, achromatick and rainbowsmear’d, brand-new Reflectors made for the occasion, and ancient Refractors of preposterous French focal lengths,- Observers lie, they sit, they kneel,- and witness something in the Sky. Among those attending Snouts Earth-wide, the moment of first contact produces a collective brain-pang, as if for something lost and already unclaimable,- after the Years of preparation, the long and at best queasy voyaging, the Station arriv’d at, the Latitude and Longitude well secur’d,- the Week of the Transit,- the Day,- the Hour,- the Minute,- and at last ‘tis.

>"Dr. Franklin waits for the parties to rearrange their seating, then strikes a C major chord. The room quiets instantly. He begins to play, rotating, by way of a Treadle Arrangement, the horizontal Stack of Glasses thro’ a Trough of Water, to keep the Rims ever wet, and then simply touching each wet rim moving by, as he would have touch’d the Key of an Organ, to produce a queerly hoarse, ringing Tone. If Chimes could whisper, if Melodies could pass away, and their Souls wander the Earth.. .if Ghosts danced at Ghost Ridottoes, ‘twould require such Musick, Sentiment ever held back, ever at the Edge of breaking forth, in Fragments, as Glass breaks."

Sweet mother of God, this fucking book.

>>4103032
>"It's like a Woman, isn't it, you look at each other, you think Of course not, she thinks Of course not,— yet the Alternatives hang about, don't they, like Wraiths."

Fuck you Ruggles. Fuck you ;_;

The first novel I read in like +10 years and it felt euphoric.

The cover of this always intrigued me

January 19th - Mason & Dixon

“One reason Humans remain young so long, compar’d to other Creatures, is that the young are useful in many ways, among them in providing daily, by way of the evil Creatures and Slaughter they love, a Denial of Mortality clamorous enough to allow their Elders release, if only for moments at a time, from its Claims upon the Attention”

“It’s like a Woman, isn’t it, you look at each other, you think Of course not, she thinks Of course not,— yet the Alternatives hang about, don’t they, like Wraiths.”