12-29-2018, 03:40 PM
(This post was last modified: 12-29-2018, 03:50 PM by Drunk Monk.)
I know I don’t post on the book subforum that much. I read so much crap for work that I seldom read for leisure anymore, very sad to say. Even when I do, I’m always hunting for poachable phrase-turns or big new words to steal. So my 2018 NY resolution was to read something that had no martial arts whatsoever. Took me all freakin year.
This was Dali’s only novel, a tale of aristocrats around WW2, and a thinly veiled metaphor for his love of Gala. It’s brilliant in that OCD-detailed way of all of Dali’s works and it pisses me off that he could write too. Sentences are absurdly long and verbose with a keen eye for literate and ridiculous references. And there’s a constant undercurrent of sexuality, like a walk through his surreal thoughts about dinner parties, etiquette, lust and love.
I’ve been chipping at this all year, taking small bites, and savoring the prose. There wasn’t too much to poach for my own writing; it’s too high brow for my readership, to observant of subconscious urges. I found myself often drifting off into my own hallucinogenic world with his diverting descriptions, losing tracks of the point of the paragraph, much like i do with his art.
Dali remains my major muse - no artist speaks to me as profoundly.
This was Dali’s only novel, a tale of aristocrats around WW2, and a thinly veiled metaphor for his love of Gala. It’s brilliant in that OCD-detailed way of all of Dali’s works and it pisses me off that he could write too. Sentences are absurdly long and verbose with a keen eye for literate and ridiculous references. And there’s a constant undercurrent of sexuality, like a walk through his surreal thoughts about dinner parties, etiquette, lust and love.
I’ve been chipping at this all year, taking small bites, and savoring the prose. There wasn’t too much to poach for my own writing; it’s too high brow for my readership, to observant of subconscious urges. I found myself often drifting off into my own hallucinogenic world with his diverting descriptions, losing tracks of the point of the paragraph, much like i do with his art.
Dali remains my major muse - no artist speaks to me as profoundly.
Shadow boxing the apocalypse