
Richard Head was an English author best known for his picaresque novel series, 'The English Rogue,' which explores the adventures and misadventures of the protagonist, Meriton Latroon. The first part, published in 1665, introduced readers to Latroon's life as a witty extravagant, navigating a world filled with deception, vice, and social commentary. Head's work is notable for its vivid portrayal of 17th-century English society, including its moral ambiguities and the complexities of human behavior. The subsequent parts of 'The English Rogue' continued to follow Latroon's escapades, expanding on themes of trickery and the art of survival in a corrupt world. Head's writing is significant not only for its entertainment value but also for its role in the development of the picaresque genre in English literature. His blend of humor, satire, and social critique paved the way for later writers who would explore similar themes. Despite the obscurity that has shrouded much of his life, Head's contributions to literature remain influential, particularly in the context of the evolving narrative forms of the time. His works reflect a keen awareness of the human condition, making him a noteworthy figure in the landscape of 17th-century literature.
“The blond boy in the red trunks is holding your head underwater because he is trying to kill you, and you deserve it, you do, and you know this, and you are ready to die in this swimming pool because you wanted to touch his hands and lips and this means your life is over anyway. You’re in eighth grade. You know these things. You know how to ride a dirt bike, and you know how to do long division, and you know that a boy who likes boys is a dead boy, unless he keeps his mouth shut, which is what you didn't do, because you are weak and hollow and it doesn't matter anymore.””
“Do you really mean to tell me the only reason you try to be good is to gain God's approval and reward, or to avoid his disapproval and punishment? That's not morality, that's just sucking up, apple-polishing, looking over your shoulder at the great surveillance camera in the sky, or the still small wiretap inside your head, monitoring your every move, even your every base though.””
“All night I streched my arms acrosshim, rivers of blood, the dark woods, singingwith all my skin and bone ''Please keep him safe.Let him lay his head on my chest and we will belike sailors, swimming in the sound of it, dashedto pieces.'' Makes a cathedral, him pressing againstme, his lips at my neck, and yes, I do believehis mouth is heaven, his kisses falling over me like stars.””
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