ITT: /comfy/ lit

I wrote this yesterday. Maybe you're interested:

I'm not going to quote every user, but so far Heaney and Tolkien are the recommended versions, and this is bad advice.

Concerning Heaney, there's a reason it's called Heaneywulf. Of course the only way to truly experience and read Beowulf (or any other work for that matter) would be to read it in Old English, but if you go with Heaney you're just putting more space between you and the real poem. It's highly inaccurate and misleading.

Do not go with Heaney. For further reading just use Google and read this:

people.umass.edu/sharris/in/e505s/ChickeringHeaneywulf.pdf

Now with Tolkien's. The man himself despised his translation, hardly revised it and never thought about publication. The fact that someone is making money out of this today is disgusting.
Tolkien notes and research on Beowulf, being “Beowulf: The Monsters and the Critics” the most relevant, are important to this day, but the translation itself is irrelevant.

Another point to consider is the fact that Old English is extremely distant from Modern English, and for this reason a verse translation (like Heaney's) isn't the best idea.

I myself prefer to at least get the message right with a good prose translation if the original one is written in verse. I don't care about the translator's poetry and accept the fact that I'm not going to enjoy Dante's masterful terza rima unless I learn Italian.

For good, accurate prose translations:
>Beowulf (Manchester Medieval Studies), translated by Michael Swanton
>Beowulf: A Prose Translation (Norton Critical Editions), translated by Talbot Donaldson

Whoa, dude, holy shit...

The other day I came across this book, and bought it solely because of the cover art. The one I have is slightly different, but the scene is the same. Sci-fi always has the best covers.

Michael Whelan's art captures the poetic tone of the book. The Martians are a race of telepaths living in complete harmony with art and nature, in ancient cities of crystal. Then the first Earth men arrive. Bradbury is, I think, the best prose writer in SF.

The Motorcycle Diaries by Che Guevara is really fun and comfy.

...

Man, that's a beautiful book.

There must be so much good stuff there...

...

this nigga right here

>the thoughtbus journey back home

such comf

>At dawn, when you have trouble getting out of bed, tell yourself: 'I have to go to work — as a human being. What do I have to complain of, if I'm going to do what I was born for — the things I was brought into the world to do? Or is this what I was created for? To huddle under the blankets and stay warm?'

>But it's nicer in here ...

This.

That's not very comfy. He's making you feel bad for enjoying those comfy blankies.

Also he's assuming that the innate purpose of man is to go to work which sickens me

Commie spotted.

Bradbury's a shit. You want real scifi/fantasy comfiness, get you some John Crowley.

Barry Hughart, Jack Vance, Fritz Leiber, Le Guin and Neil Gaiman are also all comfy as fuck.

Is it possible to imagine a life more comfy than that of Nero Wolfe?

...

I found The Return of the Native pretty comfy, right up until the tragic deaths.
Bonfires on the moors, getting drunk on cider, mummers plays at Christmas. But it's Hardy, so there has to be death and misery. Oh well at least it's pretty countryside

Good choice.

>thinking of 'work' solely in terms of physical labor

wew lad