Welcome to Litsy!

I remember reading and studying “Hands“ in college so I wanted to revisit it and read the whole collection.

The short stories are all somewhat interconnected and multifaceted. I found some a lot more interesting and deep than the others. There is a loose plot but mostly it's vignettes focusing on specific characters with one exaggerated theme (what used to be called grotesques)

#Bookreport

Steady reading week, finished ROTK that I've been stalling. This weekend I started Winesburg, Ohio because I wanted something different. I remember studying a section of it in college, but I had forgotten all of it. I have some YouTube analysis videos prepared for when I finish it in a few days.

I will also start witness today, it has been too long.

📚CR:

🎧Vengeance of the Iron Dwarf
🎧The Witness for the Dead
🎧Winesburg, Ohio

I‘m posting one book a day from my massive collection. No description, no reason for why I want to read it (some I‘ve had so long I don‘t even remember why!) Feel free to join in!

#ABookADay2023

This is #10 in my personal Classics challenge for the year. I know many people find this book depressing or gloomy, but I found it very realistic, and some of the stories quite touching. I've seen Anderson described as a “gentle“ writer, and I think there is something to that. If you've not read it, or it's been a while, it's worth a read (or re-read).

Full review: https://bit.ly/rvw-Winesb

#dashingdecember readathon @Andrew65

9 audiobooks completed ✅ That was fun! Thanks for hosting Andrew 🤩❤️👍🏼. Top 3 favorites were Alone, Winesburg, and Out of My Heart

If I climbed the wooden ladder to the attic, rummaged through a box labeled Misc. College Stuff, and resurrected my Twentieth Century Literature notebook, bet you I‘d find a scribbled marginal notation: Sherwood Anderson—pioneering narrative structure in Winesburg, Ohio. The short story cycle resonates today, a message from pre-industrial middle America to an age of fly-over states and coastal agglomeration.

Love is like a wind stirring the grass beneath trees on a black night,' he had said. 'You must not try to make love definite. It is the divine accident of life. If you try to be definite and sure about it and to live beneath the trees, where soft night winds blow, the long hot day of disappointment comes swiftly and the gritty dust from passing wagons gathers upon lips inflamed and made tender by kisses.