Contemporary Literature Novels & Stories

While I was cleaning around and observing the place, I noticed that it was the literature section and history section were the ones most untouched, just signifying that only a few to none goes in those sections and be curious of the world and times they hold inside their pages. Honestly, for me, history and literature books are the most interesting books one could ever read. History holds the ancients and times of the past, the events and happenings that were not seen by the generations of the present and of the future. It contains the kind of life people had before the current era came, the information it holds would be astounding and eye opening. History books take you to the past, it is l

"Well, those structures need to break at some point because, indeed, these themes need to be questioned... But that doesn't take away from the fact that these creations are excellent, well-written, and not only a milestone in terms of prose but also in their dynamics..." "Well, I can see you're passionate about writing, literature, and language," he said in a tone I couldn't decipher. "So, let's shift away from the teaching subject and talk more about modern literature. It's quite different from the classics, more direct, and sometimes even dirtier." He had a point, one that made my veins pulse completely. "Well, I..." "How do I admit that I read what's labeled as 'mommy porn'?" I thought wi

I raised a teasing eyebrow at that defensive excuse. " Against my better judgement!" Amanda hastily added, her cheeks increasingly flushed you'd think I was accusing her of selling amateur porn videos, starring her. " And I must say, literature is dying if that's what people are reading nowadays. I mean, why not write about world hunger or global warming? But what do we get instead? We get a whole trilogy of sadistic-masochistic sex. " " There's nothing wrong with masochists and sadists, Mrs Dawson,"

Without any performative grace. I sat there and looked at him across the small table and tried to reconcile the man in front of me with the one who had grabbed my wrist in the dark; the one who had taken what he wanted without asking. Both men existed in the same space. That was the part I couldn't quite understand. "What kind of literature?" "Nineteenth century mostly," I said. I hesitated, then added, "about women stuck in impossible situations." I spoke without tone. Without emotion. He was silent for a while.