By Lars Iyer
"A plague of rats, the top of philosophy, the cosmic fowl, and bars that do not serve Plymouth Gin--is this the Apocalypse or is it simply the USA? "The apocalypse is imminent," thinks W. He has dedicated his lifestyles to philosophy, yet he's approximately to be forged out from his loved collage. His pal Lars isn't any aid at all--he's too busy combating an infestation of rats in his flat. A drunken lecture journey via the American South proves to be one other monstrous mistake. In desperation, the 2 British intellectuals flip to Dogma, a semi-religious code that would but supply intending to their lives. half Nietzsche, half Monty Python, half Huckleberry Finn, Dogma is a singular as ridiculous and profound as faith itself. The sequel to the acclaimed novel Spurious, Dogma is the second one booklet in a single of the main unique literary trilogies when you consider that Molloy, Malone Dies and The Unnamable"-- Read more...
summary: "A plague of rats, the top of philosophy, the cosmic chook, and bars that do not serve Plymouth Gin--is this the Apocalypse or is it simply the USA? "The apocalypse is imminent," thinks W. He has dedicated his existence to philosophy, yet he's approximately to be solid out from his liked collage. His good friend Lars isn't any support at all--he's too busy scuffling with an infestation of rats in his flat. A drunken lecture journey during the American South proves to be one other massive mistake. In desperation, the 2 British intellectuals flip to Dogma, a semi-religious code that will but supply intending to their lives. half Nietzsche, half Monty Python, half Huckleberry Finn, Dogma is a unique as ridiculous and profound as faith itself. The sequel to the acclaimed novel Spurious, Dogma is the second one ebook in a single of the main unique literary trilogies seeing that Molloy, Malone Dies and The Unnamable"
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Additional info for Dogma
I’m in paaaaaainn’; ‘No one liiiiikes me’. Actually, he respects Jandek, W. says. My instincts were right, for once. ’s house. ’, W. asks. ’ He pauses dramatically. ’, he says. ‘That’s all they could take. I think Sal shat herself’, he says. She’s never forgiven us for that. W. —‘You only listen to Jandek’, he says. It’s quite impressive. W. has a certain respect for my obsessions, although they’re absurdly narrowing. My whole life has been nothing other than a series of obsessions, W. says, and this is my latest one.
W. seizes my notebook. —‘Ah! Drawings! ’ Huckleberry Finn, I tell him. ’ It’s Moby Dick, I tell him. And that’s the Pequod. W. admires my classics of American literature series. And what is this? A poem? Preppies, it’s called. Tall / sand in the hair / white teeth / pullovers / deck shoes / white shirts and blouses / yachts with white sails / fuckers Very perceptive, says W. Here’s another. Cabin Boys, it’s called. Upstairs, on deck / The preppies are dancing / with their caps worn backwards. / We are the cabin boys / scrubbing their things.
Says. He was there. My obsessions didn’t range as freely. My horizons shrank. Once, philosophy and literature; once, the great ideas of Europe: and now? A squalid room in a squalid flat. A pile of Jandek CDs. , W. says. Tighter, until it’s begun to strangle me. Tighter, and now my face is turning blue. I’m gasping for breath, aren’t I? At the bus station, an armed policeman behind the counter watches us menacingly. What have we done? Something very wrong, we feel. —‘With you’, W. says. Sal’s keeping our tickets safe, which is the best thing, we agree.