Last Try

As my reader may know, I like literary fiction.  In fact, along with oil painting, I consider it to be the finest of the fine arts.  While I try to keep an open mind, I have a strong bias towards the art as practiced in 20th century America.  I mean, Hemingway, O'Connor, Fitzgerald?  Sinclair Lewis?  Walker Percy?  Harper Lee?  Wallace Stegner?  C'mon.  It may be the best line-up in history.  The only problem I have is with William Faulkner.  Clearly influenced by James Joyce, I find him inaccessible.  Where Hemingway is lean and mean, Faulkner is meandering and verbose.  So why is this a problem?  Well, because Faulkner sits atop the pantheon.  A two time winner of the Pulitzer, he is widely considered to be the best of the best.  (Hemingway won twice, but the 1941 award was stripped when For Whom the Bell Tolls was found to be offensive.)

There are, of course, plenty of good things in life for which a taste must be acquired.  Probably Faulkner is one of them.  I'm going to give it one more try.  For the month of December, I'm removing everything from my reading list until I finish The Sound and the Fury and Light in August.  If I can't get the hang of it by then, I'll quit.  I mean, I've got Elmer Gantry sitting here unopened, so it is not like I'll be bereft without Faulkner.  But, I need to give it one last try.