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#novels — Public Fediverse posts

Live and recent posts from across the Fediverse tagged #novels, aggregated by home.social.

  1. Unmasking Italian author Elena Ferrante, because we must

    There's been yet more speculation as to the identity of the Italian author known as Elena Ferrante. The writer of novels including the Neapolitan Quartet, and The Lying Lives of Adults, has always been upfront about their use of a pseudonym. And despite writing novels since 1992, her identity, their identity, has, so far, remained a mystery. Nonetheless, the resolve to unmask the person, or persons, behind the works written under the name of Elena Ferrante, refuses to wane. Of course […]

    disassociated.com/unmasking-it

  2. Unmasking Italian author Elena Ferrante, because we must

    There's been yet more speculation as to the identity of the Italian author known as Elena Ferrante. The writer of novels including the Neapolitan Quartet, and The Lying Lives of Adults, has always been upfront about their use of a pseudonym. And despite writing novels since 1992, her identity, their identity, has, so far, remained a mystery. Nonetheless, the resolve to unmask the person, or persons, behind the works written under the name of Elena Ferrante, refuses to wane. Of course […]

    disassociated.com/unmasking-it

  3. Unmasking Italian author Elena Ferrante, because we must

    There's been yet more speculation as to the identity of the Italian author known as Elena Ferrante. The writer of novels including the Neapolitan Quartet, and The Lying Lives of Adults, has always been upfront about their use of a pseudonym. And despite writing novels since 1992, her identity, their identity, has, so far, remained a mystery. Nonetheless, the resolve to unmask the person, or persons, behind the works written under the name of Elena Ferrante, refuses to wane. Of course […]

    disassociated.com/unmasking-it

  4. Unmasking Italian author Elena Ferrante, because we must

    There's been yet more speculation as to the identity of the Italian author known as Elena Ferrante. The writer of novels including the Neapolitan Quartet, and The Lying Lives of Adults, has always been upfront about their use of a pseudonym. And despite writing novels since 1992, her identity, their identity, has, so far, remained a mystery. Nonetheless, the resolve to unmask the person, or persons, behind the works written under the name of Elena Ferrante, refuses to wane. Of course […]

    disassociated.com/unmasking-it

  5. Unmasking Italian author Elena Ferrante, because we must

    There's been yet more speculation as to the identity of the Italian author known as Elena Ferrante. The writer of novels including the Neapolitan Quartet, and The Lying Lives of Adults, has always been upfront about their use of a pseudonym. And despite writing novels since 1992, her identity, their identity, has, so far, remained a mystery. Nonetheless, the resolve to unmask the person, or persons, behind the works written under the name of Elena Ferrante, refuses to wane. Of course […]

    disassociated.com/unmasking-it

  6. Bias isn't static. It grows in the loop, not the corpus.

    LLMs develop novel social biases through adaptive exploration during use, which means the behavior itself is the mechanism. You can audit a training dataset. You cannot audit a feedback loop that hasn't happened yet.

    Not inherited. Not static. Not in the data.

    The agents sort this, or they don't.

    #novels #adaptiveexploration

    links.madcoolsocial.com/4tmoJTi

  7. Bias isn't static. It grows in the loop, not the corpus.

    LLMs develop novel social biases through adaptive exploration during use, which means the behavior itself is the mechanism. You can audit a training dataset. You cannot audit a feedback loop that hasn't happened yet.

    Not inherited. Not static. Not in the data.

    The agents sort this, or they don't.

    #novels #adaptiveexploration

    links.madcoolsocial.com/4tmoJTi

  8. Bias isn't static. It grows in the loop, not the corpus.

    LLMs develop novel social biases through adaptive exploration during use, which means the behavior itself is the mechanism. You can audit a training dataset. You cannot audit a feedback loop that hasn't happened yet.

    Not inherited. Not static. Not in the data.

    The agents sort this, or they don't.

    #novels #adaptiveexploration

    links.madcoolsocial.com/4tmoJTi

  9. Bias isn't static. It grows in the loop, not the corpus.

    LLMs develop novel social biases through adaptive exploration during use, which means the behavior itself is the mechanism. You can audit a training dataset. You cannot audit a feedback loop that hasn't happened yet.

    Not inherited. Not static. Not in the data.

    The agents sort this, or they don't.

    #novels #adaptiveexploration

    links.madcoolsocial.com/4tmoJTi

  10. Bias isn't static. It grows in the loop, not the corpus.

    LLMs develop novel social biases through adaptive exploration during use, which means the behavior itself is the mechanism. You can audit a training dataset. You cannot audit a feedback loop that hasn't happened yet.

    Not inherited. Not static. Not in the data.

    The agents sort this, or they don't.

    #novels #adaptiveexploration

    links.madcoolsocial.com/4tmoJTi

  11. After reading a lot of papers about societal collapse, I wanted a different perspective, so I turned to novels. Here's what I learned:

    * Novels often use collapse only as a backdrop to motivate their protagonist.
    * Collapse happens at the scale of systems, but novels are built around one or two people. Though some books get around this by following a large cast, or an institution.
    * Timescale matters too. If a book covers a week, this is just to short to really much about collapse.

    Full post has short reviews of all of them, ranked: existentialcrunch.substack.com

    Would love to hear more recommendations!

    #Collapse #Fiction #Novels

  12. And wow, Beware the Ills is done, but I've got enough Greenland Diaries to last years. You can continue to read it every Monday and FRIDAYS. Two a week. Yay!

    #writing #reading #fiction #books #horror #apocalyptic #journal #monsters #novels

    patrickwmarshauthor.wordpress.

  13. Patrick W. Marsh @patrickwmarshauthor.wordpress.com@patrickwmarshauthor.wordpress.com ·

    The Greenland Diaries: Day 74

    No ashes on my doorstep this morning.

    My dreams were uneven, sweaty, and full of lost images from the pre-drum world. I was staying in a hotel I traveled to when I was ten or eleven. My dad used to work in Honolulu at their mall when I was kid. He’d fly back and forth all the time and stay in a condo by himself with a Japanese VCR and old Star Trek movies. I’m guessing he watched The Wrath of Khan a hundred times.

    We’d stay in this really nice, white-pillared hotel called the Moana Surfrider on Waikiki beach. The hotel was nearly eighty years old. A disheveled, yet towering Banyan tree ruled its courtyard and rained hundreds of large nuts down on us. We’d spend our days dodging downpours, counting stylish Europeans, eating pineapple and Teriyaki burgers. My dad would insist we watch the sunset every evening.

    I’d give anything to see him right now.

    In the morning, I didn’t do anything but let Snowy roam around the lawn. The grass has spiked up past my knees now, and beneath the bristling spears are highways of hardened vines.

    Snowy doesn’t go very far, it’s too hard for her to navigate. She likes to sit in the sun and pant. When Ling and I would take her outside on hot days, we’d laugh about how strangely comfortable she’d be panting in the heat.

     At least someone is happy about the new environment.

    In the afternoon, we wandered out into the neighborhood. I checked Gerald’s grave for tampering, but there weren’t any signs of the Unnamed. Maybe they could only sense the blood and not the ash. We circled the same blocks and billowing trees. I just didn’t feel like going any further.

    When I walked back towards the shed, I thought I saw a little kid running away between a pair of houses. He was short and covered in dirt. Snowy barked at him. I wouldn’t have minded talking to him. It wouldn’t be strange or weird like my previous interactions. After hearing Gerald die, I don’t care about being awkward in this new apocalypse.

    There can’t be very many of us left.

    #apocalyptic #books #fiction #horror #journals #monsters #novels #reading #writing
  14. WHAT AM I READING?
    Just finished Ancient Rome by Simon Baker. It stuck with me after I put it down, the mark of a good book. So reminiscent of our current times (despite being over 2000 years ago) and our power hungry, self-centred leaders. A lesson in why we really don't need to anoint a leader for any of our societies.

    Started The Midnight Train by Matt Haig. So far: like the Midnight Library but slightly better story.

    #Reading #AmReading #Novels #Books #AncientRome #Psychology

  15. Well that is it. This is the last entry/segment/piece of Beware the Ills. Thank you everyone who has seen this through till the end. It meant a lot to me. It was my first and favorite book. What a story.

    #writing #reading #fiction #books #novels #horror #fantasy #darkfantasy #steampunk

    patrickwmarshauthor.wordpress.

  16. Patrick W. Marsh @patrickwmarshauthor.wordpress.com@patrickwmarshauthor.wordpress.com ·

    Beware the Ills: Part 59

    I can feel the opening, a coolness spreading into my abdomen. It was in his sleeve. I have been stabbed, a dagger, rusty and covered with poison. It belonged to them, his people from long ago.

    He must’ve dug it up here in the graveyard one day.

    I’m on one knee. The poison’s working already. I need to leave here.

    Of all places, I can’t die here.

    She’s running over to me. She’s safe. She stops to look at Haukter and then back at me. She reaches for his hood, and mangled fur.

    “Don’t touch him,” I manage to whisper. It’ll be hard to speak.

    She looks at me with a strange mixture of surprise.

    “I don’t want to know how he looks. Just leave him alone.”

    More snow falling, the wind whirls quietly. She steps away from him and approaches me. I can hear the waves, I swear it.

    “Please, please, help me get to the shore.”

    I don’t think I’ll be able to talk anymore.

    I lean on her as we walk. She’s strong and gentle against my shaky feet. I use every bit of strength to keep the blackness of the poison away. She’s walking and pulling me as fast as she can.

    Soon we’re on the hills next to the shore. Our walk through the forest was a blur, a blood induced haze. I have lost my concept of time. 

    But I can still hear the lovely waves roaring.

    She walks me to the edge of the forest where the ground slants down onto the white sand. She stops there, staring at the lapping black waves. She helps me sit down against a tree above the sand. Snow falls on us as we rest against its grey trunk. The evening sun has started to vanish above the lines of sea-clouds.

    “Bring me to the water please?” I ask feebly. It’s rather embarrassing, my weakness. I’m not in a position for vanity. I will never again be in the position for it. She kneels down beside me and takes the black glove off my right hand. There’s blood on it, it’s soaked through. She holds my hand with a gentle, trembling softness. The invaders leftover ships bob on the black water like memories. She looks out at the shore and dark sea with dreaming eyes.

    “No, you can’t get your way,” she says. She smiles behind her lips. I hope she can return safely.

    I smile truthfully, and happily. I didn’t expect this kindness of not being alone. More blood-haze and faraway thoughts fill my inner eyes. Memories of dying faces, the Shingles, and those tortured Ills brush by me like phantoms. My heart feels heavy for them, and my mind can’t focus on anything, just all matters of past and present. I think of myself, and all my actions, and it’s as if two minds were within me. The one killing in the open and the other deep within me hoping and praying.

    I would change.

    Snow is falling. The waves roll back and forth against the sand endlessly.

    The water looks so cold, so black, and so limitless.

    It is beautiful.  

    #books #darkfantasy #fantasy #fiction #horror #novels #reading #steampunk #writing
  17. GOOSE CREEK HOLLER is featured in the Book Funnel promotion, NOBODY IS INNOCENT. Nothing could be truer in my Appalachian thriller, where even the good guys have to bend the rules and the law to survive. Check out all the other great titles in the promo and then CLICK ON GOOSE CREEK HOLLER to learn more! books.bookfunnel.com/nobody-is
    #books #selfPromo #indieAuthor #indieAuthors #innocent #goosecreekholler #book #indie #mastodon #bookstodon #booksky #rural #ruralnoir #grittyNovels #gritlit #novels #novel #author #authors #reading #readingCommunity #fediverse #thriller #crimeFiction #mastodon #sophiajanehayden #writersCoffeeClub #writer #mysteryNovel #mystery

  18. kathy acker: get rid of meaning

    https://p-u-n-c-h.ro/koenigbooks/kathy-acker-get-rid-of-meaning/
    American author Kathy Acker was one of the most influential writers of the 20th century. Working through an experimental and avant-garde tradition, she wrote numerous novels, essays, poems, and novellas from the early 1970s to the late 1990s. As a postmodernist, plagiarist, and post-punk feminist, she continues to inspire generations of writers, philosophers, and artists. The book GET RID OF MEANING, edited by Anja Casser and Matias Viegener, is the first comprehensive publication on Acker’s work from an artistic and literary perspective. It includes previously unpublished material from Acker’s personal archive and other collections. The publication is the compilation of a multipart research project including an exhibition and a symposium at Badischer Kunstverein in Karlsruhe.

    https://p-u-n-c-h.ro/koenigbooks/kathy-acker-get-rid-of-meaning/

    #AnjaCasser #BadischerKunstverein #essays #experimentalWriting #feminism #feminist #KathyAcker #MatiasViegener #novels #plagiarist #poems #postPunk #postmodernist
  19. In a land where ancient gods have fallen silent and kingdoms crumble beneath the weight of betrayal, war, and dark sorcery, destinies are forged in blood and fire.

    The Shattered Kingdoms a.co/d/07eYQjuj

    #booksky #books #thriller #suspense #novels #mythological #fiction #fantasy #crime #sifi #indie

    The Shattered Kingdoms