Download The Sot-Weed Factor by John Barth PDF

By John Barth

ISBN-10: 0553104713

ISBN-13: 9780553104714

Thought of by means of critics to be Barth's so much exceptional novel, The Sot-Weed issue has received the prestige of a latest vintage. Set within the past due 1600s, it recounts the chaotic odyssey of the hapless, ungainly Ebeneezer Cooke. Cooke is distributed to the hot global to supervise his father's tobacco company and to list the struggles of the Maryland colony in an epic poem. On his project, he's captured by way of pirates and Indians; loses his father's property to roguish impostors; falls in love with a former prostitute;is approximately robbed of his virginity, which he's (almost)determined to guard; and meets a gallery of treacherous characters who constantly change identities. The Sot-Weed issue is a hilarious, bawdy tribute to the entire so much insidious human vices with lasting relevance for readers of all instances.

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Marry, sir, open wide those great cow's eyes, that I may claw them from out their sockets! " She swung her legs over the side of the bed. " Ebenezer cried, falling to his knees before her. "Nay, I have the five guineas, and more. But how price the priceless? How buy Heaven with simple gold? Ah, Joan Toast, ask me not to cheapen thee so! Was't for gold that silver-footed Thetis shared the bed of Peleus, Achilles' sire? Think thee Venus and Anchises did their amorous work on consideration of five guineas?

Ebenezer reddened, not from embarrassment but from internal pressure. " McEvoy. " Ben Oliver. "Swounds! " Dick Merriweather. One Cooke eyebrow fluttered. A mouth-corner ticked. He closed and unclosed his hands and his mouth, and the strain near retched him, but it was all a dry heave, a false labor: no person issued from it. He gaped and sweated. "Gah," he said. " Tom Trent. "He's ill! 'Tis the vapors! " "Gah," said Ebenezer again, and then froze tight and said no more, nor moved a single muscle.

Nay, Ebenezer, rail not at poor dear Harold, who is these several years under the sod from an ague got swiving ardently in cold chambers. Says I, 'tis but the nature o' the leech to bite and of the leeched to want biting, and 'tis a mystery and astonishment to me, since so many crave leeching and the best leech is so lightly surfeited, how yours hath gone starved, as ye declare, these thirty years! What, are ye a mere arrant sluggard, sir? Or are ye haply o' that queer sort who lust for none but their own sex?

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The Sot-Weed Factor by John Barth


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