Sunday, 18 August 2013
The Decline of Fiction (Part Two: The Formula Needed To Make Money Writing Novels)
Every cunt in this here room thinks that they're the next Saul Bellow. A writing club, fucken kell ken. The lads on de Facebook with their hastily put together stories and really shitty postmodern (loadsa weird shite on de walls) poetry where, man, fuck, look at these cunts writing all of their sentences backwords! Makes a cunt sick to the gills en aw. Back in part one of the series, Franco talked about why de modern fiction is so utterly devoid of worthwhile content. It's emotional wank. It is there to kick up a reaction in yous, but without having any real substance or depth to it.
So how does this sententious wank come about? Where does it come from? Why is it that Man Booker Prize novels are all the rage these days? Why are they written in this way?
To do that, we first need to look at a number of authors:
From last years Man Booker Prize shotlist. Umbrella by Will "I Look Like a Pedo" Self:
Self attended University College School, an independent school for boys in Hampstead in North London. He later attended Christ's College, Finchley, from where he went to Exeter College at Oxford University, reading Philosophy, Politics and Economics, graduating with a third class degree. His reasons for reading PPE rather than English literature were discussed by Self in an interview with The Guardian newspaper:
Hot stuff, man hating Hilary Mantel:
She attended Harrytown Convent in Romiley, Cheshire. In 1970 she began her studies at the London School of Economics to read law. She transferred to the University of Sheffield and graduated as Bachelor of Jurisprudence in 1973. During her university years, she was a socialist.
Manjaw queen Deborah Levy:
Levy trained at Dartington College of Arts, leaving in 1981 to write a number of plays, including Pax, Heresies for the Royal Shakespeare Company, and others which are published in Levy: Plays 1 (Methuen)
Alison Moore's The Lighthouse. Can't really find much on her admittedly.
Jeet (dam it feel good tae be de gangsta) Thayil:
Born in Kerala, Thayil is the son of the writer and editor TJS George, who at various times in his life was posted in several places in India, in Hong Kong and New York. Thayil was mostly educated abroad. He received a Masters in Fine Arts from Sarah Lawrence College (New York), and is the recipient of grants and awards from the New York Foundation for the Arts, the Swiss Arts Council, the British Council and the Rockefeller Foundation.
And finally: Tan Twan En.
Tan studied law through the University of London, and later worked as an advocate and solicitor in one of Kuala Lumpur's most reputable law firms before becoming a full-time writer. He has a first-dan ranking in aikido.
Well fuck me pink ken. Notice the similarities between them?
They all have worthless degrees.
They all come from extremely prestigious universities.
They are all, to quote Captain Capitalism, crusader types.
Now here's where it gets even more interesting. Read their life biographies if you have the time, roysh. What does a cunt see? The answer, is nothing, sweet fuck all, the lights are one but there's nobody home. These people have lived literally the most boring, pathetic, dur be dur, comfort filled lives in existence. They get their little degree from their well off rich tit parents, work some shit little job because they be twats and theys be narcissists and too good for de calculus, and then get hit by a positive black swan and voila, gravy and rainbows! Them cunts are all edgy and cutting edge and all is well in the world.
Take a look at some of the great writers and what do you see? Lord Byron fucked men and women including his fucking sister, went all over Europe and got himself into a fucking war just for the hell of it, because Lord Byron was fucken proto Chuck Norris/Roissy wrapped up with de bow. Chaucer was a high up page who got himself involved in the highest and lowest of medieval society. The Book of the Five Rings cunt, scary motherfucker no? Dostoyevsky was in a Siberian prison camp for five years and had a life long gambling addiction, was destitute for most of his life, married a nice enough lassiebum 25 years his junior and had a big fuck off funeral for him. Hunter S Thompson and Louis Ferdinand Celine, does a cunt even have to explain those two, I mean really? Perhaps I am being a smug cunt here, but I'd wager one of the reasons the manosphere is full of pretty good writers, is because they've actually fucken lived somewhat. Moreso than these faceless fucken goons anyway with their dumb cunt degrees. You may have a mixed opinion on Roosh, but his Dead Bat memoir is far more interesting than any Man Booker rancid shite you can think of. Roosh has lived ken.
This is how the system works. They have their nice safe upbringing. They dislike mathematical rigor and enter softie softie catch a monkey university courses. These courses have a marxist bent, so the noggins are filled with stuff like relativism, deconstructionism, post colonialism, in essence, just complete shite. The arrogance of the crusader, combined with his warped, stupid view of the world, plus his segregation from what society actually is leads him to write novels. But the novels are not straight up profiles like a Byron, say. There are few if any right wing writers in the media right now. They are taught to think in "class against class" and "lad against lassie" and thus the whole thing dissolves into a pile of postmodernist gunk. But, what sort of people read this shite? What sort of human being, what sort of giant cuntrod reads fucken Jonathan Franzen and enjoys it? Answer, the fucken peers. Sure, you get a freak three STDV above the norm like Tom Wolfe now and again, but overall, it's not about being a fucken human being. These days, fiction is about keeping up with the Jonses, nothing more and nothing less.
Do what GBFM advocates. Stick to the oldies ken. The Cathedral has corrupted the medium to such a ridiculous extent, very little is salvageable these days. Life is for the living ken? Nah, you write a good book, no one is going to read it, and if it is "good", you're probably an incorrigible shit. You entered the system, you passed go and collected 200 pound, you cheeky cunt you. Is there still a soul there ken?