RE: Aspiring and experienced Writers' discussion thread
September 2, 2015 at 7:31 pm
(This post was last modified: September 2, 2015 at 7:36 pm by Lemonvariable72.)
(September 2, 2015 at 7:19 pm)Alex K Wrote:Well I read childhoods end and my conclusion from that is that Arthur C. Clarke had a sort of jerky style at best. Now I've read 2 pohl works one earlier, one later. The earlier one was brainwave which is very good. The second was a novella called iron. Holy crap it was bad, even though it had a good concept and potentially interesting setting it was so meandering and soapish that I could barely read it. I was actually shocked they were written by the same guy.(September 2, 2015 at 6:59 pm)Rhondazvous Wrote: Are you familiar with the work of Fred Pohl. One of his favorite main characters has a computerized psychoanalyst that responds to his moods and conversation like a real human being.
I have a traumatic experience connected to the name. There is this novel "Last Theorem" written by Pohl and Arthur C. Clarke, no less. It is a horrible horrible hack job. A hot mess that doesn't seem to go anywhere and the most absurdly unreadable alien sub plot. Who let this get published, I wondered. I put it down after a few chapters and never touched anything by the guy again...
On a side note I recommend brainwave, it will make you think hard.
Sorry wrong pol. I thought pol Anderson was ment
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
