Diddles
Well-Known Member
You wouldn't believe the amount of drink I've managed to get down me the last three days. Delighted my liver is still functioning.
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Fair fucking playThink that's the last of my Christmas shopping done.
Plus working on a Saturday should be a complaint but analysing data for a study I've been working on for over three years and it looks like it's all coming together into one deadly (and possibly controversial) paper. Can hopefully get into a nice journal with this which should improve my employability/grant securing abilities.
1. My Struggle by Karl Knausgaard (Farrar, Straus and Giroux) – Contenders come and go, of course, but there was never any real doubt that this grubby monstrosity would be theStevereads Worst Book of the Year in the category of Nonfiction – taking all the boring volumes as one book, and more importantly, taking the whole noxious project as nonfiction rather than the fiction a uniform chorus of bandwagon-jumping book critics hailed it as all throughout 2014. Since half the people so obviously tracing-papered by its sloppy, lazy prose are suing the author’s publisher for slander and the other half are in therapy to deal with their entirely-natural feelings of betrayal, since walking tours are now conducted in the author’s tediously-recreated Norway and parts West, and since every store receipt and theater ticket stub can be called into evidence, this isn’t fiction any more than his cast-iron solipsism would make the author another Proust (oh wait – he was already called that by The Wall Street Journal, The New York Times, The London Times, The Los Angeles Times, Le Monde, Der Spiegel, Pope Francis, Henry Kissinger, Noam Chomsky, Lucille Ball, and former U.S. Presidents Ford, Reagan, and Lincoln). Although Knausgaard’s navel-staring is the loathsomely prominent choice as Worst Nonfiction Book of 2014 (among its many, many other sins, it manages to be even less interesting than its infamous namesake), surely a dishonorable mention must go to the legion of critics who were, until the mania passed, so proud of being able to name-drop which volume of “My Struggle” they were currently wading through. Seldom in recent memory has the Republic of Letters been so badly failed by its very own watchdogs, all of whom could surely see in 10 pages that this particular emperor had no clothes but not one of whom stood up and said it (or better yet, simply declined to give it page-space). When the Big Fraud of 2015 comes along, we’ll all have to hope for better.
i am only very very vaguely aware of him, what's his deal and why do we hate him?Worst Books of 2014 – Nonfiction! | stevereads
Knobgard is at number 1 in some lad's top 10 worst books of 2014.
I thought everyone loved him. He wrote the shittest book ever, 7 volumes of it, and everyone seems to be loosing their minds over it, calling him the new Proust etc. I only read about 60 pages but that wont hold me back from dismissing the entire thing.i am only very very vaguely aware of him, what's his deal and why do we hate him?
Was hanging out with this year's Nobel Prize winner for medicine this afternoon. Albeit very briefly.
what's that?I'm getting my eyebrows threaded after work and all thaa.
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