|Flirt by the late, great Helen Frankenthaler|
I don't mind abstraction in my art, but I hate it in my books.
So guess what? Never again. Never, never again. No more Conrad, no more Lawrence. Faulkner and Joyce you will remain dead to me. Ford Madox Ford and yes, even Virginia Woolf, just leave me alone.
Depending on which superficial online source one consults E.M. Forster, Hemingway, and Fitzgerald are also considered modernist writers. That may be the case for reasons unknown to me, but I have never read anything by any of those authors (and I have read a lot of their books) that comes even remotely close to the tedious, scattered, bullshit stream of consciousness that makes me hate modernism so much. Oddly, those same superficial sources list modernist characteristics that seem an awful lot like post- modernist characteristics.
Ezra Pound said "Make it new." I say, make it make sense.
I am linear, here me roar.
Ugh. I feel like I need to wash my eyeballs.
Better luck with the rest of my stack of travel books.