Tag Archives: Anthony Burgess

The Manchester Literature Festival unveils its 2010 lineup…

You might have noticed some lyrical and mysterious posters appearing on inconspicuous walls around Manchester – The Poplar Tree has spotted a few in the Northern Quarter – it can now be revealed what they refer to (as if you haven’t already guessed by the above)…The Manchester Literature Festival (MLF) has unveiled its 2010 lineup and it’s bolder and bigger than ever before. Staged between the 14th – 25th October, the MLF promises to showcase unknown and established authors during events such as the Bugged Blog launch, to the ‘World of Moomin’ read by Sophia Jansson. And judging from its stylish new brochure, this year’s festival has something for everyone, young and old, poetry lovers or bookworms alike. Continue reading

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Filed under Manchester Literature Festival 2010, Manchester Writing News

Who was Anthony Burgess?

In Roger Lewis’ complex biography, Anthony Burgess (Faber & Faber: London, 2002) Burgess is portrayed as a misanthropic and awkward man, who was also a pathological liar. Even the dust jacket of this biog isn’t much help in establishing the truth, as it reads: “On what occasions do you lie?” to which Burgess replies, “When I write. When I speak. When I sleep.” Continue reading

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Filed under Books/Novels/Authors

Welcome, O Brothers

Moloko Plus One

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To A Malenky Like Review

A Clockwork Orange, by Anthony Burgess

Welcome, O my brothers to this malenky like review of A Clockwork Orange – a proper horrorshow novel that will have all you chellovecks retching from your gorlos while your glazzes go all goggle-goggle at what you are about to viddy…

This great and glorious tale of adolescent violence and gang criminality is now nearly 50 years old, having first been published in 1962. It’s humbly narrated by Alex, a fifteen-year-old schoolboy who likes nothing better than a bit of the ultra-violence and some of the old in-out in-out whilst slooshying along to Ludwig Van Beethoven on his stereo. Clad in the heighth of fashion, Alex leads his droogs around town, flashing his britva to ancient chellovecks, dashing the brains out of smelly old tramps and raping damas and devotchkas alike. In short, Alex is a filthy minded brute of a boy, the type of young lad Daily Mail readers would call an “ASBO Hoodie” because if Alex was around today, he’d be wandering the streets of ‘Broken Britain’ armed with a 10in. kitchen knife ready to slash the neck of any innocent bystander unfortunate enough to get in his way. Continue reading

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