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I have a problem and I need your help. I don't understand what I read, I mean I don't understand what author of the book tried to say in that book. I love reading, I read mostly smart authors' books like Hermann Hesse, Kafka, Dostoyevsky, Camus and so on. But I don't understand them, what steps should I take?
p.s. It's driving me crazy because I usually stick with smart people (in my opinion) and they talk about books, so I have to avoid those talks...
Help with the Imperfectionists!!!
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Hey bros, please help me out with this discussion question of The Imperfectionists! It would really make my day, I have SO much more stuff to do. I'm counting on you bros! :) Cheers!
Another theme of the book is that human illusions persist in adulthood and that, to some
extent, we need them. Rachman’s characters typically cling to a fantasy until jolted out of it
(as happens to the corrections editor who believes that he and his old friend Jimmy are
“gradations of the same man” until Jimmy visits and the editor realizes that they are “utterly
different”). [Page 94] How well does Rachman develop this theme? Were you persuaded,
for example, that the corrections editor would cling for so long to his fantasies about
Jimmy’s writing talents? Or that the Paris correspondent could be so mistaken about his
Hey, could use some feedback, opening to short fantasy story
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The sky was crimson as the sun set over the bloodstained hills where the vestiges of a recent battle lay. For as long as the eye could see all that moved were those vermin of the sky, crows, picking at the rotting corpses of the unfortunate. Atop a hill, Donail stood still, to the unknowing eye he could have been a massive statue with his over-sized suit of armor. The young man was entirely unsure of how he had come to be there. Searching for an answer, he walked through the battlefield, a beacon of life in an otherwise dark and dead land.
He passed hundreds if not thousands of faces, some showing the agony of their last moments others only the peaceful tranquility of an eternal sleep. Those he did not know became etched in his mind, many of them were already there.
When Daniel reached a valley between two of the largest hills, a glint of metal caught his eye. Focusing on it from afar, Donail could see that it was a shield bearing a burning oak tree as its crest, the symbol of his knight, Sir Lisar. Surrounding the shield was a rolling sea of black, crows feasting upon his fallen comrades. The crows pecked unsuccessfully at the armor as Donail waded through them toward shield.