Now this is happening. I'll be happening there, too. Soon. Gradually, and, I presume, for a while.
(Also, side note: something funny happened this morning, something that happened after reading 200 pages of The Sot-Weed Factor, something that failed to happen after reading 3000 pages of Neal Stephenson's Baroque Cycle: I woke up with my head stuck like a fix't machination in the rhythms and cadences of 17th century prose. I think this involved me singing the praises of my shower in rhymed heroic couplets. Weird. So I guess this means either Barth did something right or Stephenson did something wrong or both or vice versa. Or it means nothing at all.)
(Which now has me wondering: if I had to spend the rest of my life talking and thinking in the prose style of any one novel, which novel would I pick?)
(Ooh, tough question. Hmm.)
(Or a lame question.)
(Your pick.)
1 comment:
I wouldn't necessarily pick a prose style - I'd pick an accent. I've always wanted to have a cool accent.
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