Szplug's Reviews > The Sound and the Fury

The Sound and the Fury by William Faulkner
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May 17, 2011

really liked it

I don't remember much, other than that the writing itself was like a crushing hangover after a fireside encounter between head and table brought about by an excessive consumption of Singapore Slings. Benjy cried, an awful fucking lot, and didn't make a lick of sense when he wasn't bawling. Written from the perspective of the retarded, which isn't actually a skip through the park. There was a ditzy, cuddling, consoling bit o' crumpet who kept flashing knickers long overdue for a date with some soap and water, and might have slept with her brother. Nasty business. One of the brothers moped and shuffled about, watching boats floating and gargling rocks and obsessing over a bridge and then snuffing his own candle, if you can believe it. He might have had at his sister, but maybe not. The misty wafts of bourbon angst cleared a bit with another brother who actually had a bit of get-up-and-go, a spring to his step, even if everything he did seemed to be in the service of assholery, southern-style. Called black folks niggers more than seemed decent or necessary, but wound up getting bested by the latter, which couldn't have helped but to piss him off even more. Looked good on him. Seemed to be a dink to his sister, who wasn't very happy. She might have been preggers without a ring on her finger, and, frankly, that just didn't cut the mustard back in the day. Hitched up his pants and drove about somewhat, but grumped and groused and generally brought a pervasive sense of that annoying prick who's always glancing at his watch and kicking at the floor and muttering for fuck's sakes under his breath in the queue for the lone teller wicket open at the bank. I don't think this one ended in any manner that could be described as cheerful, but it made one think. I guess.

I liked Light in August better. Joe Christmas carried the mother-loving tune.

*Hearty apologies to the spirit of the great Mr. Faulkner and those who might be ranked amongst his more sensitive admirers for this particularly crude and lazy attempt at garnering a chuckle and adding to a certain GR member's review count. This tricky puppy was a goodly amount more invigorating and impressive in its consumption than the above gravel-crunching might seem to indicate; indeed, worthy of a full-flush-fiver, if only I could honestly state that I understood the entire thing without cribbing from healthier and more perceptive minds. I did want to throw out a shout for Joe Christmas, though, who really was the biscuit. Thank you.
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