![]() ![]() The truth, I realize now, is that while Faulkner’s strange, dense, elliptical prose might have passed under my eyes, I completely failed to read his books when I was a young man. I was also laboring under a cruel miscalculation, the mistaken belief that I had actually read most of Faulkner’s great works– As I Lay Dying, The Sound and the Fury, and Absalom, Absalom!–in my high school and undergraduate courses–where said books were assigned reading. At the time I wrote that rant, I was still in grad school, which is to say I was still being assigned reading by well-intentioned professors. It seems amazing to me that these two critics conned a whole generation into believing that someone whose books were so unbelievably poorly written was actually, like, a totally awesome and important writer.” ![]() ![]() America needs a new master of literary fiction, and it might as well be Faulkner. “…it seems that a few critics–notably Malcolm Cowley and Cleanth Brooks–decided either that a. ![]() In a review of his first published novel Sancutary, I argued, quite ineffectually, that, “Faulkner as an American Great is nothing but a scam.” Elsewhere, I proffered this ignorant nugget: Not quite two years ago, I wrote some pretty awful things about William Faulkner on this blog. ![]()
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