Tag Archives: literature

Pejorative Pie: Orwell’s “1984”

I was moved by 1984. I just read it for the first time (it appears my upscale public schooling failed me–A Separate Peace? Come now). There were many stinging pejoratives throughout this wonderful novel which Erich Fromm, in his afterword, called a “warning.”

I find it suitable to share but one:

PROLE

The working class of Oceania.

Not heroes, no. But Winston saw in this group the only hope for a revolution in Oceania.

Full of kinetic energy, these windows to a forgotten, dismantled, hijacked past.

–AM


SOURCE: 1984 by George Orwell (tattered paperback)

REFERENCE: Wikipedia; my own reading of the book

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Pejorative Pie: Walker Percy’s “Love in the Ruins”

My feelings about Walker Percy’s Love in the Ruins notwithstanding, here is the latest installment of Pejorative Pie. Percy’s signature mastery of the language makes for some wonderful slander, as you’ll see below. But dammit if I’m not reaching for The Moviegoer the next time I reach for Percy.

KNOTHEAD

a dummy

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Pejorative Pie: Pasternak’s “Doctor Zhivago”

On Wednesday, during the bike ride home from downtown San Diego, I encountered a rather unruly motorist whom I confronted. As his demeanor seemed to indicate, the driver was none too enthusiastic about my appraisals of his driving.

I too was not amused.

With that in mind, here is the second installment of Pejorative Pie. This week, I bring you more raillery from Russian literature. Here’s my favorite accusatory verbal abuse from Boris Pasternak’s Doctor Zhivago:

SOCIALIST MEDDLER

to “meddle” is to involve yourself in affairs that don’t concern you–I’ll let you fill in the rest

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Windswept

Please enjoy “Windswept,” an early short story of mine that I’ve made available here in its entirety. This piece was originally published in Nib Magazine (now defunct).

A sharp jolt of pain shot from his pinned arm and froze him at the top of a lingering breath, where a flash of his son’s smile, his wife’s face, and the color of the girl’s touch were waiting like a mirage; but they were loath to stay and quickly turned to black as the pain eased its grip on Ernie’s nerves, allowing a final bounty of oxygen to leave his lungs and dissipate into the night air like a quick puff from a cigarette.

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