Sunday, October 12, 2008

Weekly Geeks 21

Dewey is challenging our minds this week, with a bit of a group project/scavenger hunt.

Here are the rules:

1. Look over the list of first lines. How many can you identify immediately? Post these in your blog, with the answer (the book title and author). If you’re not 100% positive of your answer, please google the line to be sure. Otherwise, your wrong answer will be spread around to other bloggers. Step 1 is the most basic step in the project, and you should only sign Mr Linky if you complete this step.
2. If you like, list a few or more first lines without answers and ask your readers if they can identify any of them. It’s fine to list all of them for your readers to look at, if you’re so inclined.
3. If you want to, you can also go around visiting other Weekly Geeks and commenting with the answers to any lines that stumped them. The more WGs you visit, the more will visit you!
4. If you want to take part in a contest to see who can get all 100 lines identified, visit the Weekly Geeks who sign Mr Linky below, take their identified lines from their blogs and post them in your own post. Your own list will grow this way. Please don’t forget to link to any Weekly Geeks whose identified lines you take!
5. If you eventually have all 100 lines identified in your blog post, please email me at dewpie at gmail dot com. Don’t email me if you get all 100 by looking at the blog of someone else who got all 100, though, because obviously that person beat you to it.

Okay. Here are the lines: (Updated _ thanks everyone!)

1. Call me Ishmael _ Moby Dick by Herman Melville

2. It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife _ Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

3. A screaming comes across the sky _ No idea; from Joanne at Gravity's Rainbow by Thomas Pynchon

4. Many years later, as he faced the firing squad, Colonel Aureliano Buendía was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice _ One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez

5. Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins _ Lolita by Vladimer Nabokov

6. Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way _ Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy (had to google this one; I haven't read the book, but the line was sooo familiar)

7. riverrun, past Eve and Adam’s, from swerve of shore to bend of bay, brings us by a commodius vicus of recirculation back to Howth Castle and Environs _ No idea

8. It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen _ 1984 by George Orwell

9. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair _ A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens

10. I am an invisible man _ Invisible Man by Ralph Waldo Ellison

11. The Miss Lonelyhearts of the New York Post-Dispatch (Are you in trouble?—Do-you-need-advice?—Write-to-Miss-Lonelyhearts-and-she-will-help-you) sat at his desk and stared at a piece of white cardboard _ No idea

12. You don’t know about me without you have read a book by the name of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer; but that ain’t no matter _ The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain

13. Someone must have slandered Josef K., for one morning, without having done anything truly wrong, he was arrested _ No idea

14. You are about to begin reading Italo Calvino’s new novel, If on a winter’s night a traveler _ If On a Winter's Night a Traveller by Italo Calvino

15. The sun shone, having no alternative, on the nothing new _ Murphy by Samuel Beckett

16. If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you’ll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don’t feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth _ Catcher in the Rye by J D Salinger

17. Once upon a time and a very good time it was there was a moocow coming down along the road and this moocow that was coming down along the road met a nicens little boy named baby tuckoo _ No idea

18. This is the saddest story I have ever heard _ No idea
From Nymeth at The Good Soldier by Ford Madox Ford (thanks!)

19. I wish either my father or my mother, or indeed both of them, as they were in duty both equally bound to it, had minded what they were about when they begot me; had they duly considered how much depended upon what they were then doing;—that not only the production of a rational Being was concerned in it, but that possibly the happy formation and temperature of his body, perhaps his genius and the very cast of his mind;—and, for aught they knew to the contrary, even the fortunes of his whole house might take their turn from the humours and dispositions which were then uppermost:—Had they duly weighed and considered all this, and proceeded accordingly,—I am verily persuaded I should have made a quite different figure in the world, from that, in which the reader is likely to see me _ No idea

20. Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by anybody else, these pages must show _ No idea

21. Stately, plump Buck Mulligan came from the stairhead, bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed _ No idea

22. It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents, except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the house-tops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness _ No idea (and I started so well!!!)

23. One summer afternoon Mrs. Oedipa Maas came home from a Tupperware party whose hostess had put perhaps too much kirsch in the fondue to find that she, Oedipa, had been named executor, or she supposed executrix, of the estate of one Pierce Inverarity, a California real estate mogul who had once lost two million dollars in his spare time but still had assets numerous and tangled enough to make the job of sorting it all out more than honorary _ No idea

24. It was a wrong number that started it, the telephone ringing three times in the dead of night, and the voice on the other end asking for someone he was not _ No idea; from Jessi at

The Crying of Lot 49 by Thomas Pynchon (thanks!)

25. Through the fence, between the curling flower spaces, I could see them hitting _ No idea

26. 124 was spiteful _ No idea

27. Somewhere in la Mancha, in a place whose name I do not care to remember, a gentleman lived not long ago, one of those who has a lance and ancient shield on a shelf and keeps a skinny nag and a greyhound for racing _ No idea; from Don Quixote by Miguel Cervantes (thanks!)

28. Mother died today _ No idea; from Joanne at Stranger by Albert Camus

29. Every summer Lin Kong returned to Goose Village to divorce his wife, Shuyu _ Waiting by Ha Jin

30 The sky above the port was the color of television, tuned to a dead channel _ No idea; from Joanne at Neuromancer by William Gibson

31. I am a sick man . . . I am a spiteful man _ No idea

32. Where now? Who now? When now? _ No idea

33. Once an angry man dragged his father along the ground through his own orchard. “Stop!” cried the groaning old man at last, “Stop! I did not drag my father beyond this tree.” _ No idea

34. In a sense, I am Jacob Horner _ No idea

35. It was like so, but wasn’t _ No idea

36. —Money . . . in a voice that rustled _ No idea

37. Mrs. Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself _ Mrs Dalloway by Virginia Woolf

38. All this happened, more or less _ No idea; from Slaughterhouse-five by Kurt Vonnegut (thanks!)

39. They shoot the white girl first _ No idea

40. For a long time, I went to bed early _ No idea

41. The moment one learns English, complications set in _ No idea

42. Dr. Weiss, at forty, knew that her life had been ruined by literature _ No idea

43. I was the shadow of the waxwing slain / By the false azure in the windowpane; _ No idea

44. Ships at a distance have every man’s wish on board _ No idea; from Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston (thanks!)

45. I had the story, bit by bit, from various people, and, as generally happens in such cases, each time it was a different story _ No idea

46. Ages ago, Alex, Allen and Alva arrived at Antibes, and Alva allowing all, allowing anyone, against Alex’s admonition, against Allen’s angry assertion: another African amusement . . . anyhow, as all argued, an awesome African army assembled and arduously advanced against an African anthill, assiduously annihilating ant after ant, and afterward, Alex astonishingly accuses Albert as also accepting Africa’s antipodal ant annexation _ No idea

47. There was a boy called Eustace Clarence Scrubb, and he almost deserved it _ Voyage of the Dawn Treader by C S Lewis

48. He was an old man who fished alone in a skiff in the Gulf Stream and he had gone eighty-four days now without taking a fish _ No idea

49. It was the day my grandmother exploded _ No idea

50. I was born twice: first, as a baby girl, on a remarkably smogless Detroit day in January of 1960; and then again, as a teenage boy, in an emergency room near Petoskey, Michigan, in August of 1974 _ No idea; from Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides (thanks!)

51. Elmer Gantry was drunk _ Elmer Gantry by Sinclair Lews

52. We started dying before the snow, and like the snow, we continued to fall _ No idea

53. It was a pleasure to burn _ Farenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury

54. A story has no beginning or end; arbitrarily one chooses that moment of experience from which to look back or from which to look ahead _ No idea; from Joanne at The End of the Affair by Graham Greene

55. Having placed in my mouth sufficient bread for three minutes’ chewing, I withdrew my powers of sensual perception and retired into the privacy of my mind, my eyes and face assuming a vacant and preoccupied expression _ No idea

56. I was born in the Year 1632, in the City of York, of a good Family, tho’ not of that Country, my Father being a Foreigner of Bremen, who settled first at Hull; He got a good Estate by Merchandise, and leaving off his Trade, lived afterward at York, from whence he had married my Mother, whose Relations were named Robinson, a very good Family in that Country, and from whom I was called Robinson Kreutznaer; but by the usual Corruption of Words in England, we are now called, nay we call our selves, and write our Name Crusoe, and so my Companions always call’d me _ Robinson Crusoe by Daniel Defoe

57. In the beginning, sometimes I left messages in the street _ No idea

58. Miss Brooke had that kind of beauty which seems to be thrown into relief by poor dress _ No idea

59. It was love at first sight _ No idea

60. What if this young woman, who writes such bad poems, in competition with her husband, whose poems are equally bad, should stretch her remarkably long and well-made legs out before you, so that her skirt slips up to the tops of her stockings? _ No idea

61. I have never begun a novel with more misgiving _ No idea

62. Once upon a time, there was a woman who discovered she had turned into the wrong person _ No idea

63. The human race, to which so many of my readers belong, has been playing at children’s games from the beginning, and will probably do it till the end, which is a nuisance for the few people who grow up _ No idea

64. In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I’ve been turning over in my mind ever since _ No idea

65. You better not never tell nobody but God _ No idea; from The Color Purple by Alice Walker (thanks!)

66. “To be born again,” sang Gibreel Farishta tumbling from the heavens, “first you have to die.” _ No idea; from Joanne at The Satanic Verses by Salman Rushdie

67. It was a queer, sultry summer, the summer they electrocuted the Rosenbergs, and I didn’t know what I was doing in New York _ No idea

68. Most really pretty girls have pretty ugly feet, and so does Mindy Metalman, Lenore notices, all of a sudden _ No idea

69. If I am out of my mind, it’s all right with me, thought Moses Herzog _ No idea; also from Jessi at Herzog by Saul Bellow (thanks!)

70. Francis Marion Tarwater’s uncle had been dead for only half a day when the boy got too drunk to finish digging his grave and a Negro named Buford Munson, who had come to get a jug filled, had to finish it and drag the body from the breakfast table where it was still sitting and bury it in a decent and Christian way, with the sign of its Saviour at the head of the grave and enough dirt on top to keep the dogs from digging it up _ No idea

71. Granted: I am an inmate of a mental hospital; my keeper is watching me, he never lets me out of his sight; there’s a peephole in the door, and my keeper’s eye is the shade of brown that can never see through a blue-eyed type like me _ No idea

72. When Dick Gibson was a little boy he was not Dick Gibson _ No idea

73. Hiram Clegg, together with his wife Emma and four friends of the faith from Randolph Junction, were summoned by the Spirit and Mrs. Clara Collins, widow of the beloved Nazarene preacher Ely Collins, to West Condon on the weekend of the eighteenth and nineteenth of April, there to await the End of the World _ No idea

74. She waited, Kate Croy, for her father to come in, but he kept her unconscionably, and there were moments at which she showed herself, in the glass over the mantel, a face positively pale with the irritation that had brought her to the point of going away without sight of him _ No idea

75. In the late summer of that year we lived in a house in a village that looked across the river and the plain to the mountains _ No idea

76. “Take my camel, dear,” said my Aunt Dot, as she climbed down from this animal on her return from High Mass _ No idea

77. He was an inch, perhaps two, under six feet, powerfully built, and he advanced straight at you with a slight stoop of the shoulders, head forward, and a fixed from-under stare which made you think of a charging bull _ No idea

78. The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there _ No idea

79. On my naming day when I come 12 I gone front spear and kilt a wyld boar he parbly ben the las wyld pig on the Bundel Downs any how there hadnt ben none for a long time befor him nor I aint looking to see none agen _ Riddley Walker (had to google this one, but we studied it at university)

80. Justice?—You get justice in the next world, in this world you have the law _ No idea

81. Vaughan died yesterday in his last car-crash _ No idea; from Joanne at Crash, by J G Ballard

82. I write this sitting in the kitchen sink _ No idea

83. “When your mama was the geek, my dreamlets,” Papa would say, “she made the nipping off of noggins such a crystal mystery that the hens themselves yearned toward her, waltzing around her, hypnotized with longing.” _ No idea

84. In the last years of the Seventeenth Century there was to be found among the fops and fools of the London coffee-houses one rangy, gangling flitch called Ebenezer Cooke, more ambitious than talented, and yet more talented than prudent, who, like his friends-in-folly, all of whom were supposed to be educating at Oxford or Cambridge, had found the sound of Mother English more fun to game with than her sense to labor over, and so rather than applying himself to the pains of scholarship, had learned the knack of versifying, and ground out quires of couplets after the fashion of the day, afroth with Joves and Jupiters, aclang with jarring rhymes, and string-taut with similes stretched to the snapping-point _ No idea

85. When I finally caught up with Abraham Trahearne, he was drinking beer with an alcoholic bulldog named Fireball Roberts in a ramshackle joint just outside of Sonoma, California, drinking the heart right out of a fine spring afternoon _ No idea; from Joanne at Last Good Kiss by James Crumley

86. It was just noon that Sunday morning when the sheriff reached the jail with Lucas Beauchamp though the whole town (the whole county too for that matter) had known since the night before that Lucas had killed a white man _ No idea

87. I, Tiberius Claudius Drusus Nero Germanicus This-that-and-the-other (for I shall not trouble you yet with all my titles) who was once, and not so long ago either, known to my friends and relatives and associates as “Claudius the Idiot,” or “That Claudius,” or “Claudius the Stammerer,” or “Clau-Clau-Claudius” or at best as “Poor Uncle Claudius,” am now about to write this strange history of my life; starting from my earliest childhood and continuing year by year until I reach the fateful point of change where, some eight years ago, at the age of fifty-one, I suddenly found myself caught in what I may call the “golden predicament” from which I have never since become disentangled _ I, Claudius by Robert Graves

88. Of all the things that drive men to sea, the most common disaster, I’ve come to learn, is women _ No idea

89. I am an American, Chicago born—Chicago, that somber city—and go at things as I have taught myself, free-style, and will make the record in my own way: first to knock, first admitted; sometimes an innocent knock, sometimes a not so innocent _ No idea

90. The towers of Zenith aspired above the morning mist; austere towers of steel and cement and limestone, sturdy as cliffs and delicate as silver rods _ No idea

91. I will tell you in a few words who I am: lover of the hummingbird that darts to the flower beyond the rotted sill where my feet are propped; lover of bright needlepoint and the bright stitching fingers of humorless old ladies bent to their sweet and infamous designs; lover of parasols made from the same puffy stuff as a young girl’s underdrawers; still lover of that small naval boat which somehow survived the distressing years of my life between her decks or in her pilothouse; and also lover of poor dear black Sonny, my mess boy, fellow victim and confidant, and of my wife and child. But most of all, lover of my harmless and sanguine self _ No idea

92. He was born with a gift of laughter and a sense that the world was mad _ No idea

93. Psychics can see the color of time it’s blue _ No idea

94. In the town, there were two mutes and they were always together _ The Heart is a Lonely Hunter

95. Once upon a time two or three weeks ago, a rather stubborn and determined middle-aged man decided to record for posterity, exactly as it happened, word by word and step by step, the story of another man for indeed what is great in man is that he is a bridge and not a goal, a somewhat paranoiac fellow unmarried, unattached, and quite irresponsible, who had decided to lock himself in a room a furnished room with a private bath, cooking facilities, a bed, a table, and at least one chair, in New York City, for a year 365 days to be precise, to write the story of another person—a shy young man about of 19 years old—who, after the war the Second World War, had come to America the land of opportunities from France under the sponsorship of his uncle—a journalist, fluent in five languages—who himself had come to America from Europe Poland it seems, though this was not clearly established sometime during the war after a series of rather gruesome adventures, and who, at the end of the war, wrote to the father his cousin by marriage of the young man whom he considered as a nephew, curious to know if he the father and his family had survived the German occupation, and indeed was deeply saddened to learn, in a letter from the young man—a long and touching letter written in English, not by the young man, however, who did not know a damn word of English, but by a good friend of his who had studied English in school—that his parents both his father and mother and his two sisters one older and the other younger than he had been deported they were Jewish to a German concentration camp Auschwitz probably and never returned, no doubt having been exterminated deliberately X * X * X * X, and that, therefore, the young man who was now an orphan, a displaced person, who, during the war, had managed to escape deportation by working very hard on a farm in Southern France, would be happy and grateful to be given the opportunity to come to America that great country he had heard so much about and yet knew so little about to start a new life, possibly go to school, learn a trade, and become a good, loyal citizen _ No idea

96. Time is not a line but a dimension, like the dimensions of space _ No idea; from Joanne at Cat's Eye by Margaret Atwood

97. He—for there could be no doubt of his sex, though the fashion of the time did something to disguise it—was in the act of slicing at the head of a Moor which swung from the rafters _ No idea; from Orlando by Virginia Woolf (thanks!)

98. High, high above the North Pole, on the first day of 1969, two professors of English Literature approached each other at a combined velocity of 1200 miles per hour _ No idea

99. They say when trouble comes close ranks, and so the white people did _ No idea

100. The cold passed reluctantly from the earth, and the retiring fogs revealed an army stretched out on the hills, resting _ No idea

Okay, the words "no idea" have stopped looking like words!


penryn said...

Oo, I can help!

27. Don Quixote by Miguel de Cervantes
38. Slaughterhouse-five by Kurt Vonnegut
44. Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston
65. The Color Purple by Alice Walker

Kitty said...

Thanks Maree. I picked up some from you.

Icedream said...

Thanks Maree, you knew three that I couldn't find anywhere else yet. I linked those to you.

Ali said...

Thanks for helping me out! Felt a little dumb about not getting If On a Winter's Night a Traveler, I must say. Even though I've never even heard of the book, it would have been worth a guess at least! LOL.

Maree said...

penryn: thanks! I'll add them in :)
Susan and Icedream: you're welcome :)
Ali: I haven't read it but it was an optional text in my Modernist Fiction paper in my last year at University. As I recall, the very idea of the book made my brains hurt. :)

Dreamybee said...

#50-Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides
#97-Orlando by Virginia Woolf

jessi said...

#23 is The Crying of Lot 49 by Thomas Pynchon and #69 is Herzog by Saul Bellow. I have a few others at my WG post. :)

Ana S. said...

18: The Good Soldier by Ford Madox Ford

Joanne ♦ The Book Zombie said...

3 - Gravity's Rainbow by Thomas Pynchon
28 - Stranger by Albert Camus
30 - Neuromancer by William Gibson
54 - End Of The Affair by Graham Greene
66 - Satanic Verses by Salman Rushdie
81 - Crash by JG Ballard
85 - Last Good Kiss by James Crumley
96 - Cat's Eye by Margaret Atwood

Here is a couple more for you maree :)