"We'll meet again, we'll part once more. The spot I'll seek if the hour you'll find. My chart shines high where the blue milk's upset."

In “Finnegans Wake” by James Joyce


Joyce could really write. “Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man” is exquisite, and “Ulysses” is a masterpiece. I see Joyce as a product of his 'modernist' era, certainly, but a sincere one. He was reaching for something, a kind of synthesis of prose and poetry that came close to the true language of the mind. It's remarkable how much of Finnegans Wake is comprehensible, in spite of the fact that Joyce's words don't actually exist; we know what he means, or we can guess at it, which would be impossible if it was just gibberish. 

If you're into stuff like this, you can read the full review.

Look I feel pretty conflicted about Finnegans Wake because some of the snarling I see about what a wankfest it is strikes me as that faux populist garbage. On the other hand, Finnegans Wake is basically 3 million multi-lingual puns, and if there's anything worse than a pun, it's a pun that requires the knowledge of three dead languages. (Also, some of the Finnegans enthusiasts are using Joyce as a codpiece, and that is as awkward to watch as it is uncomfortable. That's not really Joyce's fault though.) 

Anyway, now with pictures! I approve. 

The ending of Kafka's The Castle: 

She held out her trembling hand to K. and had him sit down beside her, she spoke with great difficulty, it was difficult to understand her, but what she said

That's just one of twelve books in this Publisher's Weekly blog post about novels that end in the middle of a sentence. The reasons for each abrupt ending are given, but Kafka has the best excuse--he died. 

The books are the nine above and these three below:

Link