Raskolnikov

I read it last year and i was tricked by the title. After all, the alledged fundamentalist is not reluctant at all. Very anti-occidentalist in his opinions and that being said, nothing new out of clich

Hello all, I would like to read Ayn Rand whom has been a total discovery for me recently. Any starter?

Racism is the top high immoral standard of our societies. In the meantime, serial killers stories are overflowing our shelves. Mankind is not worth a sacrifice, but anti-racism is. How absurd. As Wilde nicely put : 'There is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book, Books are well written, or badly written. That is all'.

Hello all, today I am looking for a tale that I could read to my daughter about the importance of being punctual. Any idea?

You would be surprised by Against nature. Sensuality is sweating all through the pages. And the promise of some sexual fantasies also happen. Probably the most sexual book I have ever read. That's maybe why Lord Wotton recommended this poisonous book to Dorian Gray. During his trial for deprivacy, Wilde was repetedly blamed for quoting such an indecent author. "His eye fell on the yellow book that Lord Henry had sent him. What was it, he wondered. He went towards the little, pearl-coloured octagonal stand that had always looked to him like the work of some strange Egyptian bees that wrought in silver, and taking up the volume, flung himself into an arm-chair and began to turn over the leaves. After a few minutes he became absorbed. It was the strangest book that he had ever read. It seemed to him that in exquisite raiment, and to the delicate sound of flutes, the sins of the world were passing in dumb show before him. Things that he had dimly dreamed of were suddenly made real to him. Things of which he had never dreamed were gradually revealed. It was a novel without a plot and with only one character, being, indeed, simply a psychological study of a certain young Parisian who spent his life trying to realise in the nineteenth century all the passions and modes of thought that belonged to every century except his own, and to sum up, as it were, in himself the various moods through which the world-spirit had ever passed, loving for their mere artificiality those renunciations that men have unwisely called virtue, as much as those natural rebellions that wise men still call sin. The style in which it was written was that curious jewelled style, vivid and obscure at once, full of argot and of archaisms, of technical expressions and of elaborate paraphrases, that characterises the work of some of the finest artists of the French school of Symbolistes. There were in it metaphors as monstrous as orchids and as subtle in colour. The life of the senses was described in the terms of mystical philosophy. One hardly knew at times whether one was reading the spiritual ecstasies of some mediaeval saint or the morbid confessions of a modern sinner. It was a poisonous book. The heavy odour of incense seemed to cling about its pages and to trouble the brain. The mere cadence of the sentences, the subtle monotony of their music, so full as it was of complex refrains and movements elaborately repeated, produced in the mind of the lad, as he passed from chapter to chapter, a form of reverie, a malady of dreaming, that made him unconscious of the falling day and creeping shadows." Hence, this decadency is not pornography. This is not Venus in furs. You have to read between the lines...

Against the grain (also translated under Against nature) from Huysmans. A french aristocrat who retreats to an isolated villa where he indulges his tastes for bizarre and decadent luxuries. Amoung those, he develops with pride his own transgressive library. Proust's In search of lost time also idealises the character's remembrance of specific lectures and libraries.

Yes i am. Now, please let us guess who you are.

Dorian, the re-writting of Oscar Wilde's famous book is an interesting go : transgressive and filthy.

This is Sacrifice from Tarkovsky. A man is living with his daily family ups and downs. One day, an apocalyptical war comes and everything from his dull life looks priceless. At night, he decides to pray. To god, he promises not to talk ever again, to quit everything, to burn every material thing he has, if only the war ends and if his family is spared. The following day, the war is over.

I killed my wife. I could not stand the closeness she had with her music partner. Maybe I had reasons to be jalous or maybe I was paranoid and over-possesive with her. Now I am travelling by myself and I have found an old man to whom I confess my actions. Who am I?

yes, quizz us please.

i give up on this one.

hmm... Some kind of femme fatale. Do you have an additional clue?

Bravo! The most famous pyroman ever. Now it's up to you.

Fanny and Alexander _Bergman Am I right?

This one is a classic but I cannot copy it here, so you have to jump to the screenshot : http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/reader/0140317937/ref=sib_dp_pt#reader-page

Orthodoxy... I like it. It a great work of re-enchanting the world and seeing it through the eyes of a child.

Chesterton is quite famous in France. I know it may also be the case in South America. In here, his work is quite praised, not so much for his detective stories, but more for his apologetic studies upon catholicism and his puns. His pamphlets and sketches upon his fellow citizens are priceless though. Did you read him? Why on earth he's he so obscure in the UK an US? It it because he converted to catholicism? Does he have some kind of bad reputation over there?

here are some more i liked. Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do: once or twice she had peeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had no pictures or conversations in it,

I take over. I am an ugly man. I live after world war II. I become obsessed with beauty and Evil. My life is now directed toward one goal : demolishing the antic building that my fellow citizens consider as the jewel of their nation.

Heathcliff, it's me, Cathy come home.

Artificial Paradises - Baudelaire

Paradise Lost - John Milton