nenena: (Default)
HYPERDEFENSIVE LIT NERD: "Henry Miller was a true poet, the James Joyce of obscenity and smut, and those of us who write both owe him a debt of gratitude for bringing the wild and woolly and truly passionate side of sex out into the open."

MULTIPLE COMMENTATORS ON MULTIPLE POSTS: "No, James Joyce is the James Joyce of obscenity and smut."

PREACH IT.

And no, that's not just because of his filthy letters to Nora Barnacle. Have y'all ever read Finnegans Wake?! We're talking about a 600-page book that averages at least twenty sex puns per page.

(Although for the record I think my absolute favorite thing about Joyce's letters to Nora Barnacle is that the smuttiness was never one-sided. Nora's side of the correspondence is probably lost forever, but we know from reading Joyce's letters that at least on one occasion she wrote him detailed instructions as to how he was to masturbate himself while reading her letter. And he followed her instructions faithfully. OMGtheirloveissoscatological.)

Clearly this is an excuse to post some Ewan McGregor as James Joyce:


REPRESENT.