Faulkner is Heavy Lifting for the Brain like I’ve never seen. No relaxing read, this, because things like dialogue tags and chronology and context are hen’s teeth (see: scarce as) so it takes you ages to figure out that there are two characters named Jason, and also two named Maury except then one of the ones named Maury is later re-named Benjamin but since there is no chronology he is occasionally still referred to as ‘Maury’ and there are two Quentins but one is a girl and the first quarter is narrated by the idiot son and is in stream-of-consciousness so the sense-making is at a minimun and the second quarter you think is going to help you out except that this narrator might have been a bit mad and I don’t speak WTF.
And while the third narrator still forgoes all useful punctuation entirely (did someone say this? did I just think it? am I narrating this to you now? YOU WILL NEVER KNOW, BITCHEZ!) and the fourth one is written almost entirely in dialect (*stabs. eyes.*) they are both, mostly, intact of the wits. And by now you’re on your third and fourth go-round because each narrator is mostly talking about the same series of events, and you’re actually really proud of yourself for deducing shit out of the pile of nonsense you’ve been given, and the reason I’m not giving away any of the plot is because that is the fun of this novel, of being all, SUCK IT, FAULKNER, I have figured your ass out. You were making me dumber on purpose. I sort of ruined some of that fun in the preceding paragraph, so if you’re going to take a stab at this you can go ahead and forget all of that business about there being two Quentins, one of whom is a girl.
This is obviously one of those books that gains much on the re-read and I just might be batty enough to try. But that day will be in the unforseeable future once I’ve gotten over my fits of hair-pulling.
I dunno. Both three and eight caterpillars, how’s’bouts.