Faulkner

I don’t really have time to read Faulkner, but I’m doing it anyway. For some reason I’ve been in the mood, and you have to seize those moods when they come.

Normally I’m not a fan of what is sometimes called experimental prose, which often seems like just a way to make poor craftsmanship look deliberate. It’s hard enough simply to write good normal prose, and no one succeeds on every try even doing that.

But in hands like Faulkner’s that sort of language obviously works very well at its best, slow though it sometimes is to read.

And yeah, a simultaneous Faulkner/Badiou reading is quite a bit more bizarre than a Gogol/Badiou matchup.