Taught by Simon Critchley, who explains that he intends it partially to be "a way of mocking creative-writing workshops." Full article at the New York Times:
With Mr. Critchley kneeling before a blackboard on Saturday and his 15 attendees gathered tightly around, class began with a discussion of the shifting ethics of suicide, from antiquity to modern-day Christianity to right-to-die debates in the news media.
The suicide note, which he identified as a literary genre with a unique form, is a fairly recent invention coinciding with the rise of literacy and the press, he told the class.
“In antiquity, there was no need to leave a note,” he said. "It would have been obvious why you killed yourself."
His sentences were as eccentric as his plots. Viz:
"I know how to get to the inside of a chilled-steel receptacle with no more noise than a cockroach, drunk after emerging from an uncorked gin-bottle in a garbage can, would make as he sneaked back to Mrs. C., waiting up to biff him on the beezer for leaving her to mind the youngsters while he went skyhooting. "
If people bought this 1950 edition of The Lottery by Shirley Jackson thinking it would be a sex-filled potboiler, they were in a for a bit of a disappointment.
Edward Packard invented the "Choose Your Own Adventure" genre, which made him a good living -- and still does. According to wikipedia, he recently started a company to bring Choose Your Own Adventure apps to the iPhone and iPad. Packard may also have caused an entire generation of kids to be confused about their identity:
[Click to enlarge. From Esquire for February 1958.]
1) You are using a childrens' picture-book icon to advertise an adult product. Why not employ the Grinch to sell booze?
2) Even if some parent found this ad to be cute when presented with it in some other forum, you are running it in Esquire, a magazine which, prior to the debut of Playboy, was Swinging Bachelor Hangout #1.
I presume that Archie is not hallucinating here, and that Veronica's Alice-like abilities are canonical, part of the Riverdale continuity. And I look forward to her future exploits.
I'm reading a Mark Twain book currently, Following the Equator. In it, he mentions a notoriously bad poet, Julia Moore, a name I had not thought of in ages. Moore's fabled lack of talent produced scads of bad poetry. You can read about her career here.
Google has digitized at least one of her books, which you can read here. Be prepared to encounter such excruciating verse as this sample to the right.
Moore is included in The Stuffed Owl, a volume of the world's worst poetry. Wouldn't that make a swell Xmas gift for the literary type in your life?
by Shirley Jackson thinking it would be a sex-filled potboiler, they were in a for a bit of a disappointment.
Category: Death, Literature