Studs Lonigan by James T. Farrell
By James T. Farrell
Accumulated right here in a single quantity is James T. Farrell's well known trilogy of the formative years, early manhood, and loss of life of Studs Lonigan: younger Lonigan, The younger Manhood of Studs Longan, and Judgement Day. during this relentlessly naturalistic portrait, Studs begins out his existence filled with vigor and ambition, characteristics which are overwhelmed through the Chicago youth's restricted social and financial setting. Studs swaggering and cruel comrades, his slim kin, and his academic, and non secular historical past lead him to a lifetime of futile dissipation.
Ann Douglas presents an illuminating introductory essay to Farrell's masterpiece, one of many maximum novels of yank Literature.
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Extra info for Studs Lonigan
Is it? ” And he kept looking from one to the other of we four, finding himself now like in the middle of a very smiling and polite square. “Yes,” I said. “It would interest me greatly, brother, if you would kindly allow me to see what books those are that you have under your arm. ” “Clean,” he said. ” And then Pete skvatted these three books from him and handed them round real skorry. Being three, we all had one each to viddy at except for Dim. The one I had was called ‘Elementary Crystallography,’ so I opened it up and said: “Excellent, really first-class,” keeping turning the pages.
Anyway, he said: “What is this? Who are you? ” And all the time his goloss was trembling and his rookers too. So I said: “Never fear. ” Then Georgie and Pete went out to find the kitchen, while old Dim waited for orders, standing next to me with his rot wide open. ” I said, picking up the pile like of typing from off of the table, and the horn-rimmed moodge said, dithering: “That’s just what I want to know. What is this? What do you want? ” So poor old Dim, masked like Peebee Shelley, had a good loud smeck at that, roaring like some animal.
As they were going out we handed them a bit of lip-music: brrrrzzzzrrrr. But, myself, I couldn’t help a bit of disappointment at things as they were those days. Nothing to fight against really. Everything as easy as kiss-my-sharries. Still, the night was still very young. 2 When we got outside of the Duke of New York we viddied by the main bar’s long lighted window, a burbling old pyahnitsa or drunkie, howling away at the filthy songs of his fathers and going blerp blerp in between as though it might be a filthy old orchestra in his stinking rotten guts.