Saturday, October 27, 2007

The Booker Prize For Bummery

Re-reading London Fields, and I was struck by Amis's musings on the curious predeliction of literary greats for what I'll call the backdoor arts.

Bumfoolery with the bonus tunnel, if you know what I mean.

He notes that both Beckett and Joyce displayed such posterior-fixated perversions - he further implicates D.H. Lawrence, Norman Mailer, Philip Roth, John Updike and V.S. Naipaul.

Indeed, it is not only the literary lion who exhibits such depravity - I myself am nuts-deep in a Yorkshire Terrier even as I type.

What could be the explanation for this? That with heavenly gifts come demonic desires?

P.S. You'll notice Amis doesn't include himself in that list, largely because he's been so far up his own arse for the last decade that he's in danger of winking out of existence.

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