Archive for ‘Lists’

April 3, 2014

List with No Name #45

by Edwin Turner
  1. Walking down the street—a windy night, a blustery night, the last remnant of winter poking into new spring—walking with my family, I ran into my former cat. My wife coaxed him from the brick home five doors down the road, where he has lived for the last three years, or maybe habited is the word, browner, fatter than I remember him when I remember him. He ran up and bit me. I burst into tears.
  2. The time I called my parents, weaving home from the izakaya–It must be daytime, the supper hour, back at home in Florida, yes?—asking after my father, my brother, my grandmother, my childhood dog, how was she, her health, etc.? The lie in my mother’s voice. Stumbling in tears back to my tiny apartment. I missed the train.
  3. (I missed the train on purpose so that I could cry on the long walk home).
  4. On our bed, our old bed, a slimmish bed, tickling my wife, my fingers all over her beautiful young body, her laughter, shrieks, protest, delight. Our cat—our kitten—how he dashed in and bit me all over, viciously, striking like some other animal, like one might imagine a cobra or a weasel would strike. My hand, my arm, my shoulder. That I had a genuine wound there. Blood. My wife calming him, explaining him. Sweethearts.
  5. When my mother brought home the dog, a border collie, a beautiful black and white border collie—no, her name, I can’t share that, I can’t—me, twelve, furious, trembling even, walking into the neighbors’ yard, away, the dog, her, she, the dog in our garage, my younger brother petting her, my father suspicious, but me—Why so angry?
  6. I loved the dog. So much. She was the best.
  7. A few years ago, finding a picture of my dog, a puppy still, wet, in a bathtub of a house I lived in twice, finding the picture in the pages of a book, handing it to my daughter, who asked after the dog, her condition, name, whereabouts, etc., concerned, an edge or shade of protocol in her voice.
  8. That picture now tacked to my daughter’s wall on a corkboard reserved for such tackings.
  9. The cat—how he jumped into my daughter’s crib, curled about her. How it frightened us.
  10. He was never the same after the daughter, or we were never the same, an understatement, an obvious, obvious understatement, of course.
  11. He went to wander a bit, stroll in the world; he failed to return at nights. He took up with an orange tabby, a dusty bland beast my wife dubbed Pearly.
  12. A ridiculous name for a cat.
  13. And then I took to feeding them both. On the porch.
  14. There were other dogs after the dog I loved. A chow, a beagle that couldn’t keep up. What happened to them?
  15. The cat took residency under the house. He refused to move in. He was some kind of scrapper now. We might see him of an evening, curled on the porch, nestled, maybe, with dust-orange Pearly.
  16. But he stopped coming in.
  17. What happened to my dog? The details? I don’t know. This is still a sore spot, but I seem to refuse to ask.
  18. (I suppose I enjoy a sore spot, a wound to worry).
  19. The cat did not like my daughter, I think, and when we had the son, well, I know he didn’t like that. He made it clear. But we subscribe to a fiction wherein the cat loved the children and the children loved the cat.
  20. My daughter has a sweet little framed photo of my cat. He is curled snugly (is there another way for a cat to curl?) in a little wicker basket atop a kitchen cabinet in our old home. My daughter insisted on keeping the photo when I went to throw it away.
  21. Every person, or most persons, that is, most folks—-most folks love their dogs and like their dogs and will say of a dog they like and love: He was a good dog. But my dog! My dog was a very good dog, a smart dog, a dog of impeccable training. My father, returning from years of work overseas to a few months of not working (overseas or otherwise)—my father he trained the beast. It was his project.
  22. (I say, I write, My dog, knowing goddamn well that that dog was my father’s dog).
  23. Returning home from a week in the Smoky Mountains, unable to locate my cat. A miasma about the backporch. Flies, that dead-animal smell that permeates the nostrils, the brain. Finding a raccoon corpse under the house, its body bloated but whole, vile, large and swollen. Discarding it in a series of trash bags.
  24. Its fur was the same color as my cat’s fur.
  25. The strange joy when my cat arrived two days later, his feet trotting down the pavement, sauntering even, arriving on the porch indifferent to my delight but hungry.
  26. That he had taken up first with a possum, and then a raccoon.
  27. The first time I suspected the affair was when I heard the strange crunch of a new jaw crunching on my cat’s own food—a louder, drier crunch. I made myself, hollered, arms above head, chest-thrust, Hey raccoon—off the porch!
  28. But that furred trio just stared at me, knowing I’d go on feeding them as I had been, all Darwinian competition suspended by domestic tendencies, blinking in a series.
  29. How horrifying!
  30. And yet and still—my children, via the designs and tendencies of my wife and me—don’t they turn woodland creatures into anthropomorphic totems? Don’t they squeeze stuffed dolls? Draw and mold and paint forest friends? Make stories about such beasts?
  31. I can’t believe for a minute that the dog would’ve taken to such nocturnal company, nor would her sweet heart spurn my babies for night adventures.
  32. But who knows.
  33. My parents now live with an awful yapping terrier dog, his two rows of teeth set above his rotten beard, and above that mutant jaw, his eyes skewed, akimbo, their colors mismatched.
  34. There is a picture of my cat, or the cat that I am calling my cat who is so plainly now his own cat—there is a picture of that cat in the crib with my daughter. In the picture, both cat and daughter face the camera, the crib horizontal to the viewer, its vertical white bars framing the pair. The cat’s head intersects with the daughter’s head, occluding half her face from the viewer’s view.
  35. This picture horrified my daughter.
  36. (And perhaps signaled a sense of self, or, more importantly, or more significantly, or just plain more interestingly, the sense that there was a self that could be occluded, obstructed, obscured, incomplete).
  37. My wife and I, repeatedly testing our daughter’s reaction to the photo, varying times of day, situations, etc., in order to observe her reaction.
  38. (I almost used the verb gauge for observe but oh my that would be so dishonest, yes?).
  39. Anyway, it horrified this little girl, moved her to tears, gasping, this cat’s head blocking half of her head.
  40. With the dog I don’t know what happened, not really: She was old; her hips were bad, we had to put her down. There’s no image there, just the sound of my mother’s voice passing through some 7,000 miles, telling me that she—the dog—was dead. Or not to tell me, but rather to avoid telling me.
  41. But I do know what happened to the cat.
  42. Here’s what happened to the cat: We moved—not far—from a colorfullivelyurban neighborhood, to an old old suburb of that early urban plot. We moved.
  43. And he was an afterthought, the cat—with his roving, his adventures, he was hard to pin down, to catch in a carrier, a box. I’d tried to coax him and trap him and chase him over a few weeks, but in the thin interval between buying the new house and moving into the new house and selling the old house—well I couldn’t get him, grab him, hold him.
  44. Until I finally did. I engineered (the verb here is too kind) a trap of sorts, bating him with the food, constructing a perimeter, waiting. Pearly showed himself (he knew he was not wanted), but my cat was far slippier. But I waited. And I nabbed him: In a carrier purposed for cats and then into a big box and then into the back of my station wagon and then howling for five or six or seven minutes as we traveled, not far, but over a short, old bridge, into our new old neighborhood, his howling yelping shrieking raising my anxiety about the whole thing, his rustling fury palpable in acute waves from the rear of the car, my voice which could not even call him to me under the brightest of conditions in no way alleviating any of this and so yes of course the first thing I did when I got to the new old house was to open the hatchback, open the box, pull out the carrier, and try to grip the cat who yes of course sprang down (like a cat!) onto the unfamiliar concrete drive, hunting perhaps a crawlspace to crawl into, sensing none, none, none what to do what to do?
  45. And then he ran away.
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February 27, 2014

List with No Name #44

by Edwin Turner
  1. In Kyoto, in the hot summer rain, sweating in a poncho, fighting with my girlfriend in front of a golden temple.
  2. At 17, experiencing the most intense jealousy of my life, watching a classmate weep in front of The Pietà, thinking, feeling, Why can’t I feel that?
  3. On the way to work, sleepy, maybe a bit hungover, breaking down in tears at “Space Oddity,” concern for Major Tom, his family. Swearing off music in the early morning. News radio ever since.
  4. Religion is just a set of aesthetic possibilities, conditions, and experiences.
  5. In Cork, drinking beer on a roof in the summer sun, a wasp landed on my very eye.
  6. In the last year of college, writing and recording dozens of songs with friends, editing the songs into a cohesive thing, calling the thing an album, sharing it with friends, with never even once the intention of doing anything else with that music, with no dreams of anyone else hearing it, live or recorded. An album made entirely for ourselves.
  7. Listening to it a dozen years later, conceding that it was actually maybe very good.
  8. Vomiting in foreign cities.
  9. Wary of my own susceptibility to sentimentalism, to sentimentality, to my awful tendency to experience catharsis through a fast food commercial on television.
  10. Never able to feel transcendent peace in nature, despite Emerson, Thoreau, Dickinson, Whitman, etc.—because just at the moment that the affect of transcendent peace manifests (the verb is inadequate), my awareness of the affect and the process of the affect and my feeling of the feeling of the affect spoils it all.
  11. Crashing into a road sign on an off ramp, walking away from the wreck, lying down on the slanted concrete abutment in the shade of a roaring overpass, feeling the best feeling, unspoiled.
  12. My child born—that nothing was more original, real, terrifying, beautiful.
  13. In dreams, sometimes: A whole other life, full, brimming, rich, real. He who wakes me wounds me, I think Nietzsche wrote. Or was it Bernhard? Or am I imagining the phrase?
  14. Never not jealous of a hawk in flight.
  15. My mother falling asleep, I kept reading until I too fell asleep.
  16. Vomiting into the trashcan in my classroom.
  17. My brother, balling up wrapping paper, hurling at me. My explosive rage.
  18. The snakes, the rats, the roaches I’ve killed.
  19. Workshopping a story in class. How I hated everyone.
  20. Friends jumping on my bed the afternoon of my wedding. (How did they get in?). Vomiting in the bed.
  21. Reading a certain novel, its plot, its construction essentially destroying a hundred or more of my own pages, my own outline, my own idea.
  22. A Modigliani in the New Orleans Museum of Art: Her neck was everything I remembered of the visit.
  23. My electric guitar, literally rusty from salt air and disuse.
  24. Irony as an aesthetic experience—or a defense against aesthetic experience?
  25. Painting the same scene in watercolors, dozens of times, with my daughter—the loquat tree, the grass, the sky. Her paintings surpassed mine so quickly.
  26. The rat that scuttled over my feet by the river in Chiang Mai. My horror and laughter.
  27. Removing dead rats from a shed as an aesthetic experience.
  28. All experiences are aesthetic experiences.
  29. Does maturity necessitate that we turn down the volume on these aesthetic experiences? That we manage the affect? That we blunt the feeling of the feeling?
  30. Seeing The Pietà again at 27 and moved by the memory of the classmate’s aesthetic response a decade earlier.
  31. The tourists crowding out Mona Lisa, I shuffled into some other room full of heavy, dark, black paintings—Caravaggios?—the names didn’t matter, the authority didn’t matter, I was 15 I think, I relaxed, I could look, I was alone, or I felt alone, it was lovely.
  32. My office: Prints by Goya, Picasso, Tintoretto, Leonardo. A painting by my grandmother, a dog resting, a bird and a bone nearby. Students come by to look at the giant Bosch reproduction, which I wish were more giant, more real.
  33. At the Dali Museum. Shock at how small some of the paintings were.
  34. Is there an aesthetic experience outside of sharing?
  35. Endlessly copying figures from comic books.
  36. Photographing food and sharing it on social media as a kind of thanksgiving prayer.
  37. Seeing the Bacon collection at MoMA, feeling a feeling that I still don’t have a name for.
  38. Rising early on Saturday mornings to watch a show where a man (or was it a woman?) guided me (and others, I suppose) through the rudiments of sketching animals. My grandmother made me sausages.
  39. My daughter’s thorough indifference to a Dürer etching in our local museum I wanted her to see. Her pleading to go to the gardens to paint with watercolors, to paint the fountain, the flowers.
  40. Sometimes in my dreams I write something, or paint something, or create wonderful, strange music.
  41. At eleven years old, sitting for a friend’s mother, who painted my portrait in watercolor. She didn’t draft in pencil, she worked so quickly. I was jealous and grateful.
  42. One of the reasons I love the internet so much is that it allows me to look at paintings. But looking at a painting on a screen is not the same as looking at paintings in the real.
  43. As a teenager, attempting wax dripping paintings in the style of Pollock, starting small fires in my bedroom, covering the scorched carpet with books, clothes, my parents sometimes not discovering the marks for weeks. Trying to explain them, but unwilling to share the paintings.
  44. A wish for anything that disrupts the feeling of feeling the feeling.
February 20, 2014

Amusements — George Catlin

by Biblioklept

December 9, 2013

List with No Name #43

by Biblioklept
  1. Frost, Thomas Bernhard
  2. The Lost Scrapbook, Evan Dara
  3. JL Borges
  4. Donald Barthelme
  5. Against the Day, Thomas Pynchon
  6. Gargoyles, Thomas Bernhard
  7. Maqroll novellas, Álvaro Mutis
  8. Lenz, Georg Büchner
  9. Memories of the Future, Sigizmund Krzhizhanovsky
  10. Moby-Dick, Herman Melville
  11. At Swim-Two-Birds, Flann O’Brien

 

 

December 9, 2013

List with No Name #42

by Biblioklept
  1. Permission, S.D Chrostowska
  2. As Consciousness Is Harnessed to Flesh, Susan Sontag
  3. John the PosthumousJason Schwartz 
  4. Anti LebanonCarl Shuker
  5. Tenth of DecemberGeorge Saunders
  6. Exodus, Lars Iyer
  7. Revenge, Yoko Ogawa
  8. From Old Notebooks, Evan Lavender-Smith
November 26, 2013

List with No Name #41

by Biblioklept
  1. A Serbian Film
  2. American Movie
  3. Australia
  4. Brazil
  5. Chinatown
  6. From Russia with Love
  7. Good Morning Vietnam
  8. Hotel Rwanda
  9. Madagascar
  10. Once Upon a Time in Mexico
October 20, 2013

List with No Name #40

by Biblioklept
  1. Sinbad the Sailor
  2. Tinbad the Tailor
  3. Jinbad the Jailer
  4. Whinbad the Whaler
  5. Ninbad the Nailer
  6. Finbad the Failer
  7. Binbad the Bailer
  8. Pinbad the Pailer
  9. Minbad the Mailer
  10. Hinbad the Hailer
  11. Rinbad the Railer
  12. Dinbad the Kailer
  13. Vinbad the Quailer
  14. Linbad the Yailer
  15. Xinbad the Phthailer
October 4, 2013

Biblioklept’s Dictionary of Literary Terms

by Biblioklept

ALLEGORY

Didactic extended metaphor, best enjoyed amorally.

BIOGRAPHY

The sordid and lurid details of an author’s life; use as a critical rubric if the author’s work seems beyond comprehension.

CATACHRESIS

Mixed or imprecise metaphor. When an author stretches her words like taffy across the loom of meaning.

DEATH OF THE NOVEL

Declare the novel dead every few weeks. Resuscitate as necessary.

EPIC

Originally used to denote lengthy narrative works concerning serious subjects, this term may now be applied freely to modify failure, coffee, tacos, kittens, etc.

FANTASY

An inventive and imaginative style of fiction eschewed and denigrated by serious readers and writers.

GNOMIC POETRY

Poetry composed in the secret language of garden gnomes, inaudible to mortal ears.

HUBRIS

Defining common characteristic of all politicians.

IRONY

Dominant mode of much of 21st century communication (including, lamentably, this list).

JOYCEAN

Hyperbole used to describe lengthy works of contemporary authors. Use to disappoint potential readers.

KENNING

Circumlocution of meaning. E.g. “feed the eagle” for “kill,” “battle-sweat” for “blood,” “tube of garbage” for “internet.”

LEONINE VERSE

Poetry about lions.

MORAL

Each reader’s personal misunderstanding of the meaning of a work of literature.

NONFICTION

What your father reads.

OPEN LETTER

A solipsistic bid for attention delivered under the pretense of reaching out to another entity.

PASTORAL

Use to describe any work of literature set outside of a city.

QUATRAIN

A stanza

or poem

composed of

four lines.

RED HERRING

A false clue employed by an author to distract the reader. A novel where all points of evidence are red herrings (preferable) is a shaggy dog story.

STRUCTURALISM

Grab bag of theories you learned in college.

TRILOGY

Elevate any degraded work of pop culture by repeating it twice. Reboot as necessary.

UNRELIABLE NARRATOR

This narrator cannot be depended upon to pick you up from the airport, water your plants while you’re away, meet you on time for a beer or coffee, return small loans, etc.

VICTORIANISM

Indicative of literature of the prudish, uptight Victorian Era. Famous Victorian works include Venus in FursThe Pearl, and The Lustful Turk.

WITTGENSTEIN

Twentieth-century philosopher. Quote the first and last lines of his book Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus frequently (don’t worry about reading anything in between).

XENOPHOBIA

Fear of warrior princesses.

YELP

The pinnacle of contemporary criticism.

ZEUGMA

The list ended with zeugma and disappointment.

(Previous entries here and here).

September 27, 2013

List with No Name #39

by Biblioklept
  1. Do the Right Thing
  2. Bamboozled
  3. 25th Hour
  4. Malcolm X
  5. Crooklyn
  6. Red Hook Summer
  7. She’s Gotta Have It
  8. Summer of Sam
  9. School Daze
  10. Mo’ Better Blues
  11. Jungle Fever
  12. Miracle at St. Anna
  13. Get on the Bus
  14. Girl 6
  15. She Hate Me
September 12, 2013

National Day of Encouragement Reading List

by Biblioklept

Today, a dollar store calendar my grandmother gave me tells me, is National Day of Encouragement, which is totally a real thing. So here is a National Day of Encouragement Reading List, which is also totally a real thing. Much encouragement to you, citizens!

  1. King Lear, William Shakespeare
  2. Blood Meridian, Cormac McCarthy
  3. “Before the Law,” Franz Kafka
  4. Candide, Voltaire
  5. First Love and Other Sorrows, Harold Brodkey
  6. “Rappaccini’s Daughter,” Nathaniel Hawthorne
  7. Camp Concentration, Thomas Disch
  8. “The Lottery,” Shirley Jackson
  9. “The Raven,” Edgar Allan Poe
  10. The Awakening, Kate Chopin
  11. Things Fall Apart, Chinua Achebe
  12. The Bell Jar, Sylvia Plath
  13. Correction, Thomas Bernhard
  14. Butterfly Stories, William Vollmann
  15. “A Good Man Is Hard to Find,” Flannery O’Connor
  16. The Road, Cormac McCarthy
  17. 2666, Roberto Bolaño
  18. “The Fall of the House of Usher,” Edgar Allan Poe
  19. Wuthering Heights, Emily Brontë
  20. From Hell, Alan Moore & Eddie Campbell
  21. The Flame Alphabet, Ben Marcus
  22. The Painted Bird, Jerzy Kosinski
  23. Heart of Darkness, Joseph Conrad
  24. “The Wasteland,” T.S. Eliot
  25. Hamlet, William Shakespeare
  26. The Pearl, John Steinbeck
  27. Distant Star, Roberto Bolaño
  28. Notes from Underground,  Fyodor Dostoyevsky
  29. The Yearling, Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings
  30. The Kindly Ones, Jonathan Littell
  31. “The Life You Save May Be Your Own,” Flannery O’Connor
  32. Gargoyles, Thomas Bernhard
  33. The Plague, Albert Camus
  34. “The Yellow Wallpaper,” Charlotte Perkins Gilman
  35. Frankenstein, Mary Shelley
  36. Where the Red Fern Grows, Wilson Rawls
  37. A Farewell to Arms, Ernest Hemingway
  38. “Good Old Neon,” David Foster Wallace
  39. 1984, George Orwell
  40. Nausea, Jean-Paul Sartre
September 8, 2013

Biblioklept’s Dictionary of Literary Terms

by Biblioklept

APHORISM

A concise, often witty, turn of phrase that should be shared out of context on Twitter or Pinterest.

BILDUNGSROMAN

Novel where someone (preferably male) matures into the ideal state of bitter disillusionment.

CATHARSIS

Evocation of fear and pity. Best exemplified in modern storytelling by Lifetime Network original movies.

DECONSTRUCTION

A form of textual analysis. No one knows what it means. Apply liberally.

EXISTENTIALIST

Use to describe any French novel of the 20th century. Serve with coffee and cigarettes.

FOIL

First, Outer, Inner, Last.

GENRE FICTION

Deride genre fiction at all times. If a writer uses genre tropes, praise her for genre bending. (See LITERARY FICTION).

HYSTERICAL REALISM

Use to describe any big ambitious novel that does not meet your aesthetic and/or moral needs.

IAMBIC PENTAMETER

All poetry is composed in iambic pentameter.

JUVENILIA

A writer’s immature work, which she usually (wisely) withholds from publication. After the writer dies, every scrap should be published, scrutinized, and passed around the internet out of context.

KAKFAESQUE

Synonym for “odd.” Apply freely.

LITERARY FICTION

A genre of fiction that pretends not to be a genre. What your book club is reading this month.

MAGICAL REALISM

Use to describe any novel by a South American writer.

NARRATOLOGY

Use structuralist techniques to analyze narrative plots—and watch the kids go wild! Narratology is the number one thing the audience of a book review is interested in.

ORPHAN

All heroes must be orphans.

PANOPTICON

Use this term liberally in any discussion of modern politics. Pairs well with film studies courses.

QUEER THEORY

A form of literary analysis that conveniently begins with the letter “Q,” making it ideal for silly alphabetized lists like this one.

ROUND CHARACTER

A character portrayed in psychological and emotional depth to the degree that she comes alive in your imagination. Round characters provide an excellent alternative to making meaningful human relationships.

SOUTHERN GOTHIC

Use to describe the style of any writer from the Southern part of the United States.

TAUTOLOGY

A tautology is a tautology.

UTOPIA

Synonym for dystopia. Argue about its pronunciation, indicating that you understand the complexities of Greek prefixes.

VERISIMILITUDE

Literary trickery.

WHODUNNIT

A genre of books that sells well in airports.

XENA

Beloved warrior princess. Look, is hardokay?

YOUNG WERTHER

The original sad bastard; he invented emo.

ZEITGEIST

Time’s ghost. You’re soaking in it, which makes it hard to see.

September 6, 2013

List with No Name #38

by Biblioklept
  1. John Barth’s beret
  2. Zora Neale Hurston’s fedora
  3. Mark Twain’s bowtie
  4. David Foster Wallace’s bandanna
  5. Tom Wolfe’s white suit
  6. Carson McCuller’s cigarettes
  7. Wiillaim Faulkner’s pipe
  8. Jonathan Franzen’s spectacles
  9. Flannery O’Connor’s crutches
  10. Walt Whitman’s hat (cocked, natch)
  11. Oscar Wilde’s fur coat
  12. Thomas Pynchon’s paper bag
August 20, 2013

List with No Name #37

by Biblioklept
  1. Socrates
  2. Guy Debord
  3. Sylvia Plath
  4. David Foster Wallace
  5. Hunter S. Thompson
  6. Gérard de Nerval
  7. Tadeusz Borowski
  8. Spalding Gray
  9. Virginia Woolf
  10. Lucan
  11. Thomas Disch
  12. Vachel Lindsay
  13. Ernest Hemingway
  14. Yasunari Kawabata
  15. Paul Celan
  16. Seneca
  17. Heinrich von Kleist
  18. John Kennedy Toole
  19. Sarah Kane
  20. Breece D’J Pancake
  21. Gilles Deleuze
  22. Robert E. Howard
  23. Richard Brautigan
  24. Anne Sexton
  25. Stefan Zweig
  26. John Berryman
  27. Walter Benjamin
  28. Primo Levi
  29. Jerzy Kosinski
  30. Hart Crane
  31. Yukio Mishima
August 7, 2013

List with No Name #36

by Biblioklept
  1. Fargo
  2. A Serious Man
  3. The Big Lebowski
  4. Miller’s Crossing
  5. Barton Fink
  6. Blood Simple
  7. No Country for Old Men
  8. O Brother, Where Art Thou?
  9. The Man Who Wasn’t There
  10. Raising Arizona
  11. Burn After Reading
  12. True Grit
  13. The Hudsucker Proxy
  14. The Ladykillers
  15. Intolerable Cruelty
August 6, 2013

List with No Name #35

by Biblioklept
  1. Achebe
  2. Bolaño
  3. Carter
  4. DeLillo
  5. Ellison
  6. Fitzgerald
  7. Gaddis
  8. Houellebecq
  9. Ishiguro
  10. James
  11. Kertész
  12. Lispector
  13. McCarthy
  14. Nabokov
  15. O’Connor
  16. Pullman
  17. Quincey, de
  18. Rousseau
  19. Shakespeare
  20. Tolkien
  21. Uris
  22. Vollmann
  23. Wallace
  24. X, Malcolm
  25. Yates
  26. Zweig
August 5, 2013

List with No Name #34

by Biblioklept
  1. Atwood
  2. Borges
  3. Calvino
  4. Dickinson
  5. Emerson
  6. Faulkner
  7. Gombrowicz
  8. Hawthorne
  9. Ibsen
  10. Joyce
  11. Kafka
  12. Lish
  13. Melville
  14. Nin
  15. O’Brien
  16. Poe
  17. Queneau
  18. Roth
  19. Sebald
  20. Twain
  21. Updike
  22. Vonnegut
  23. Walser
  24. Xenophon
  25. Yeats
  26. Zola
July 4, 2013

List with No Name #33

by Biblioklept
  1. Moby-Dick
  2. Mosses from an Old Manse
  3. Emily Dickinson (oeuvre)
  4. Go Down, Moses
  5. J R
  6. Huckleberry Finn
  7. Invisible Man
  8. Blood Meridian
  9. Leaves of Grass
  10. The Scarlet Letter
  11. A Mercy
  12. Grapes of Wrath
  13. Death Comes for the Archbishop
  14. Underworld
  15. The Pale King
July 2, 2013

List with No Name #32

by Biblioklept
  1. Shakespeare
  2. Faulkner
  3. Gaddis
  4. Gass
  5. Burroughs
  6. Vollmann
  7. Wordsworth
  8. Saroyan
  9. Yeats
  10. Golding
  11. Thackeray
  12. Williams
  13. Strunk
  14. James
  15. Styron
  16. Hazlitt
  17. Baring-Gould
June 20, 2013

List with No Name #31

by Biblioklept
  1. “Made in America”
  2. “Pine Barrens”
  3. “College”
  4. “The Test Dream”
  5. “Whoever Did This”
  6. “Long Term Parking”
  7. “Kennedy and Heidi”
  8. “Mayham”
  9. “Rat Pack”
  10. “Whitecaps”

 

 

June 10, 2013

List with No Name #30

by Biblioklept
  1. The Wizard of Oz
  2. Howl’s Moving Castle
  3. Wild at Heart
  4. Zardoz
  5. Return to Oz
  6. Oz the Great and Powerful
  7. The Wiz
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