Wild Palms

ISBN: 0099282925
ISBN 13: 9780099282921
By: William Faulkner

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About this book

'Between grief and nothing I will take grief'In New Orleans in 1937, a man and woman embark on a headlong flight into the wilderness of illicit passion, fleeing her husband and the temptations of respectability. In Mississippi ten years earlier, a convict sets forth across a flooded river, risking his one chance at freedom to rescue a pregnant woman. From these separate stories Faulkner composes a symphony of deliverance and damnation, survival and self-sacrifice, a novel in which elemental danger is juxtaposed with fatal injuries of the spirit.

Reader's Thoughts


The continuing saga of my traipsing (at long last) through the genius of Fualkner.What carries this book the most is the imagery - in here are some of the most mesmerizing descriptions of landscape (possibly some of the most amazing known to human history). The description of a land covered in flood is awe-inspiring, to both character and reader alike. In this one we have two separate narratives that revolve on love and the nature of man and woman with a young doctor who falls in love with a married woman (his first chance to fall in love in his life) and a convict who gets separated from his guard in a flood and comes across a pregnant woman sitting in a tree. Here we find the shock of emotion that gets laid upon reticent Faulknerian men, and of course the deep psychologies of devotion and sacrifice and the need to sacrifice. I am only reticent to offer 5 stars on this because the escaped convict line simply didn't compel me as much--sorry to make reference to a dim book in comparison, but Cold Mountain held me back in the same way, that when two storylines are entwined, one runs the risk of the paler dragging down the whole effort. Cold Mountain did that in spades, and while the lesser storyline only dragged this down a bit, I did feel nonetheless dragged down and tempted all too often to skip. Sorry, Bill.


Due racconti, separati e distinti, si dividono la singolare struttura alternata di questo romanzo. Avrei voluto trovare un motivo, un collegamento inequivocabile tra le due vicende; purtroppo non sono stato sufficientemente attento. È stata una lettura molto amara: non mi sentivo testimone, ma vittima dei pensieri e delle azioni dei protagonisti; della duplicità della narrazione, che trovavo sleale nei miei confronti; degli eventi, che non riuscivo a confinare tra le pagine. Per queste ragioni non posso esprimere un'opinione serena su questo libro; lo ricorderò sempre come una crisi, una calamità, qualcosa che desideravo finisse presto e che non ero preparato ad affrontare.I capitoli intitolati Palme selvagge seguono il caso di due amanti irregolari, costretti a un oscuro disagio fisico e sociale: con loro ho visto stanze vuote e fredde, e tantissima neve; poi le sponde mute di un lago, che sapevano di alcolici dozzinali e legno marcio. Ogni giorno contavano i loro risparmi, affrontavano il tacito rimprovero negli sguardi dei vicini, inventavano speranze e fughe. Il titolo della seconda storia, Il vecchio, si riferisce all'alluvione del Mississippi del 1927. I forzati impiegati in una colonia agricola penale vengono costretti a partecipare ai soccorsi: abbandonano l'aratro e l'erpice, non le catene; consumano i loro pasti sotto la pioggia. Il protagonista non ha un nome: con lui ho visto quell'interminabile distesa d'acqua; le cime degli alberi in file regolari, ultime tracce dei corsi di fiumi e strade; i rari tetti sui quali i sopravvissuti si erano rifugiati. La sua onestà e la sua fatica mi hanno svuotato di ogni freddezza; ho avuto un'ulteriore prova - letteraria, ma non per questo meno valida - di come la giustizia non possa compensare la mancanza di umanità. Queste sensazioni - l'affanno, la colpa, l'accusa - sono comuni alle due trame: poche per decifrare il legame inteso da Faulkner, ma sufficienti per incatenare il lettore.Alla fine di ogni capitolo, in modo del tutto irresponsabile, negavo di essere turbato e rinnovavo la mia illusione: dicevo di amare il libro; cercavo una possibilità di riscatto, un approdo, un perdono, un abbraccio. Perciò continuavo a leggere, trascurando il sonno e gli impegni, affrettando la fine: ne sono uscito con le ossa rotte. L'ho riposto su uno degli scaffali più alti.


Two stories, one tragic and one darkly comic, alternate in successive chapters, five for each, in this influential experimental novel. The stories never touch, and probably occur in different years, though they both end in southern Mississippi. The juxtaposition of two stories related only obliquely in theme continues to have resonance in literature and film up to the present day.The comic story covers only a few months in the life of a convict who escapes while out doing relief work during a flood of the Mississippi River, probably the one of 1927. The tragedy takes place over several years during which two illicit lovers flee New Orleans and travel all over the country before coming to rest, with tragic consequences, on the Gulf Shore of southern Mississippi, probably some time in the '30's, but definitely not at a time of a river flood.The convict's accidental meeting of a woman about to have a baby, and his setting up house with her, though only briefly, is juxtaposed against the story of a married woman's passion for a young doctor, and their fleeing her husband and children in order to be together, and existential need and desire that neither of them can explain. The themes bounce off of each other in comic and tragic turns. IT's quite an amazing story, outside of Faulkner's usual Yoknapatawphaw County universe.


It wouldn't be fair to give this a 3, so I've gone for a 4. I'm stingy with my stars (precisely for you, dear reader) because I find little value in reviewers who give everything a 5.Wild Palms lies somewhere between good and brilliant. There's a nice amount to think about, mainly a contrarian relationship between an ill-starred couple trying to be together against the odds, in the face of a society in which the odds are already stacked against them - even without their unconventional choices. They deliberately keep the flame of their love burning hot with a series of decisions that are destructive of the things that could have provided a more conventional, sustained, and mundane existence, and that ultimately are self-destructive, too.And that's only half the story. The other (interwoven) story has a wonderful scene describing a fight with an alligator that would make the book worth reading even if it had no other remarkable qualities. Here's a link to a fragment of the description http://bit.ly/dgO9Rk


Примечательная книга Фолкнера. Тяжеловатая, правда. Тяжеловесная, я б сказал. Читать довольно трудно. Из двух частей, не связанных напрямую совершенно, но которые при этом следуют одна за другой по нечетным и четным главам.Но мысли интересные. Короче, лейтмотив - свобода и восприятие человеком свободы. Люди не бывают готовы к свободе. Свобода кусается. Свобода выше реальности. Это метафизика борьбы, на которую люди оказываются неспособны.И еще. Очень крутой язык с точки зрения повествования. Никогда такого не встречал, чтобы и вроде поток сознания, и рассказ самих героев произведения, но в то же время повествование ведется авторское, персонажи носят имена и про них (персонажей) пишут в третьем лице.Вообще, все время он (автор) проделывает этот фокус. Пишет: "он", - а потом добавляет в скобочках, кого он конкретно имел в виду (например, Гарри). Получается, как будто он (персонаж) в потоке сознания обращается к себе как "он", что конечно ближе к "я", чем называть себя по имени. Хотя все это в третьем лице. Такой поток remote сознания.И еще. Очень атмосферно создан антураж потока (реки после наводнения). Повествование просто несет тебя на лодке, на которой передвигается один из героев. А шуршание пальм весьма дикое, зловещее.Засим откланиваюсь перед Фолкнером. Теперь я свободен от его неподъемного модернизма, буду читать что-нибудь полегче.


Lievi anticipazioni (non più comunque di quanto appaia nel risguardo)Generalmente prima di iniziare un nuovo libro, lo sfoglio, lo soppeso, ne leggo il risguardo - per la precisione - lo rileggo. La prima lettura era già avvenuta all'acquisto ma questa nuova è fondamentale per le precedenze, mi deve colpire in quel momento particolare in modo da indicarmi il libro da iniziare. In questo caso, però, tale lettura è stata nociva. Mi ha distratto dal godimento spontaneo del testo. Il lettore viene avvisato che i racconti sono due, ben distinti e paralleli, con nulla in comune. Allora questa è una sfida: vuoi non trovare un filo conduttore? E si cercano le somiglianze rischiando di perdere la poesia dell'onda del fiume che risucchia e lo sferzare delle palme al vento. I conti con la Natura sono sempre dovuti, la sfida dell'uomo è impari, soccombe. Fortunatamente la scrittura di Faulkner è così bella, è così una bella scrittura che fa dimenticare la volontà di indagine e ci si abbandona al suo ritmo. Progressivamente si riescono a comprendere le motivazioni delle persone - non personaggi - incomprensibili al primo approccio. Quando si legge l'ultima pagina, non si sente la necessità di capire perché Faulkner abbia alternato un capitolo di una storia con il capitolo dell'altra, è evidente che ciò che le lega è la contrapposizione della volontà dei diversi protagonisti: nascita/ristabilire un vecchio ordine di cose nel primo racconto, aborto/cambiamento nel secondo. Il fallimento è comunque comune ad entrambi. Leggetevelo, leggetevelo il rammarico del forzato nelle ultime parole del libro, e il dolore di una vita sprecata, prima e dopo, del dottorino... Ignoranza e immaturità, queste le colpe, alleggerite dal solito senso dell'umorismo di Faulkner: come si può non ridere a pag. 246?E questa è la prima cosa tradotta in parole, misere, da quando ho chiuso il libro pochi minuti fa, molte frullano nel cervellino, ma le tengo per me, Faulkner non può essere raccontato, è uno spreco, va annusato in prima persona.1956, Mississipi 1897-1962


There he is, the Old Man, the river that is something of a deity in the American South. The muddy water that threatens and nurtures and has a will and a force that can not be predicted or tamed, even in our time.In this book you have a prisoner struggling against the whims of the Mississippi. Convicts are enlisted to rescue stranded peasants. A tall convict is asked if he can row a boat, he says he can, probably because he doesn't know what he is promising. The point is made that this convict alive in 1927, has plowed, lived on, and eaten from land irrigated by this river all of his life but sees it for the first time only after he is already grown and served many years in prison. That revelation is startling, but it must have been true of many in that time and place. And that river, which he has in his blood, is threatening him from the moment he sets down on its surface in his little rowboat.In this book you also have a man and a woman discovering a threatening love, and you could say that love is threatening them the moment they set down upon it in their little bodies. They are in New Orleans (a city built on the run off of the Old Man) in 1937. Their story opens the book and Faulkner's sentences have a strong current of their own. The words he uses flood your senses and you have to be a swift paddler to keep from being overturned or dashed against some obstacle (inevitable, and not so bad). These two don't actually float around on the river (they go to Wisconsin, Illinois and Utah instead)but like the convict, the river is in their blood.The two lovers have a threatening love because it is one great blinding demand, with no concern for civilized life. No marriage, employment, or child can survive it. They accept the violent demand of this love with a thrilling lack of experience. And the two personalities that Faulkner reveals in the lovers are the ideal vessels for such a love. A young medical student, in debt from birth and a remarkable woman of decisive action and words.The tall convict has his woman too, he takes her into his boat, a stranded woman great with child, and they search for any mercy they can along the river. The convict is so ignorant of everything outside of his prison that his common struggles against the elements become like dazzling mythology. Faulkner makes you feel the suffering of the convict, who really becomes no wiser in his adventures, but what he has is the stamina of the long-suffering prisoner. Eventually he is hunting for ancient reptiles with a Cajun of the Atchfalaya. You can imagine how puzzling and scary this would be to someone who never heard of alligators or Cajuns, largely because Faulkner dispenses with all conventions of perspective and lets you feel the story from many angles.A very unique and remarkable book. I never knew Faulkner was capable of this. Thanks to Steve Harris for getting me interested in reading this.


Des trajectoires individuelles qui vont jusqu'au bout de leur logique anti-concessive, de leur morale exclusive, le tout dans une pratique de l'entrelacement des récits. Et cela finit sans point final par un "les femmes. Font chier!" C'est dramatique mais en même temps l'écriture ne nous pousse pas à l'identification narrative ; pas davantage que nous ne partageons le flux de pensée des protagonistes. L'écriture est accidentée et si peu fluide que des passages entiers de Faulkner ne constituent même pas une petite musique intérieure. Du bruit de fond assez systématique. J'ai eu du mal à y entrer.

Luciano Losiggio

Dos historias. Ambas sobre el amor y las mujeres. Una sobre cómo lo valen, a pesar del dolor, el sufrimiento y los quilombos. La otra sobre cómo no. Todo contado por Faulkner. Traducido por Borges.


This is a very famous flood that is referenced in many novels, this book is referenced in the book my boyfriend was reading just after I finished this one. That book is: "Hellfire: The Jerry Lee Lewis Story" by Nick ToschesWhat eloquence. I can't wait to read more faulkner. His sentences were mesmerizing in length and thought and still this small novel tied two stories together so well. Like the flooded tributaries of the Mississippi, so is this book on my mind. Its theme of struggle the current. are some of my favorites to read, but this book accomplished it so well in a raw and courageous brilliance. It uses some of the same beautiful ideas of freedom that i admired in jack kerouac's novels, but this is less poetic. some quotes: "we were too busy; we had rent and support a room for two robots to live in.""I was in eclipse" "I was outside of time." "I was still attached to it, supported by it in space as you have been ever since there was a not-you to become you, and will be until there is an end to the not-you by means of which alone you culd once have been--that's the immortality-- supported by it but that's all, just on it, non-conductive like the sparrow insulated by its own hard non-conductive dead feet from the from the high-tension line, the current of time that runs through remembering, that exists only in relation to what little of reality we know, else there is no such thing as time.""It was like the instant of virginity, it was the instant of virginity: that condition, fact, that does not actually exist except during the instant you know you are losing it...""If Jesus returned today we would have to crucify him quick in our own defense, to justify and preserve the civilization we have worked and suffered and died shrieking and cursing in rage and impotence and terror for two thousand years to create and perfect in man's own image; if Venus returned she would be a soiled man in a subway lavatory with a palm full of French postcards--" "...it was the mausoleum of love, it was the stinking catafalque of the dead corpse borne between the olfactoryless walking shapes of the immortal insentient demanding ancient meat.""... if They were to let us beat Them, it would be like unchecked murder and robbery. Of course we can't beat Them; we are doomed of course; that's why I am afraid."


I’ve come to find that I tend to read as two different people, the writer and the reader. What each of these personalities likes and appreciates in a novel can be completely different. The reader is looking for plot and character, a fun story with interesting characters that pulls me into the book and prevents me from putting it down. The writer is looking for technique and word use, a well structured sentence or paragraph with deep description and intriguing word choice that leaves me in awe. In a few very rare occasions there is a novel that appeals to both the reader and the writer, but usually if the reader is enthralled the writer isn’t all that impressed and if the writer is in awe the reader is left with a headache. There is no doubt that William Faulkner is an author that appeals solely to the writer in me because the reader struggled with every minute I spent with Wild Palms. It was obvious from the first page that Faulkner was an author writing on a different plane then most I am use to reading. His style is very stream of conscience, with long complicated sentences and flowery word choice. One can’t breeze through a Faulkner sentence. You need to take it slowly, soaking in every word and punctuation, because it won’t end where it started, nor will the journey be a straight line. In Wild Palms, he seems to have thrown a parenthesis into every sentence, breaking the flow of thought to jump around in time and story. It’s a technique that makes the novel hard to read and enjoy, but one that forces you to read closely and pay attention to every thing that occurs. It’s something the writer in me can’t help but admire. Reading someone like Faulkner as a writer can prove to be a slightly depressing exercise, because I know I will never be able to write a story with such a sense of art. I’ll admit, I’m far from a fan of the stream of conscience style of story telling, yet I found Wild Palms to have more for the reader in me then anything written by Virginia Wolfe. As much as Faulkner makes you work, there is something more accessible in this novel then I have found in most stream of conscience stories. It may have been painful, and it may be a while before I choose to tackle another Faulkner novel, but nothing in Wild Palms made me swear off his work. It certainly isn’t for the faint of heart, but there are enough enjoyable moments to give him another try. If you are looking for light fun fare, Faulkner will never be for you, but if you are looking for a challenge, a story that you may admire more then enjoy, give Wild Palms a try.

Amanda Roa

This is a story, in fact two juxtaposed stories, about flawed people blundering through life, fate against them, misdirected values, inevitable outcomes, all told via stream of consciousness prose for which Faulkner is famous. This is the second Faulkner novel I have read, both of which after reading a biography of his life. He was a complex, conflicted man, full of ideation and of dubious morals. Once I allowed myself to get in sync with the cadence of Faulkner's style of writing, I fell in love with it. The personified Faulkner is never very far away from his fiction. Reading his work is like getting to know the man himself in a vivid and intimate way. He was a private man, yet his prose was raw and revealing. I can imagine him, a solitary soul, in his room at Rowan Oaks writing and fantasizing and proliferating each and every scene. This won't be the last of Faulkner that I read.

Ricardo de Almeida Rocha

Faulkner. Cada século tem escritores que são seus arautos. O começo do século 20, a decadência de uma forma de vida, absurda, atrasada, injusta, não irá se transformar, pelo fim oficial de um de seus maiores emblemas, o preconceito racial oficial, numa era melhor. Antes o quadro se torna paradoxal e a perspectiva mais sombria. As soluções que restam talvez sejam os pontos altos das grandes obras desse autor. Em Santuário, a volta do advogado para casa, depois de experimentar a liberdade pelo mundo, é a um tempo patética e quase gloriosa. Como se ele tivesse conseguido o mais importante, sobreviver e, ao sobreviver, aprender o que não sabia e com isso ser um homem menos espetacular mas mais realista e, portanto, útil, tanto à irmã (cujos sentimentos intensos são tão incestuosos quanto o paterno em relação a Little Lee e todavia se mantém puros por se manterem numa dimensão dominada pelo bem, num mundo, como diria a única Lou Salomé, “onde o incesto não seria pecado”. Em Luz em Agosto, é a peregrinação de Lena em busca de seu suposto amor, que termina por encontrar tudo menos amor onde imaginava, mas todavia deflagra em Byron sentimentos de altruísmo que determinaram igualmente o final da história daquela menina viajante e grávida. Num e noutro caso há o melhor do homem não redimindo o mundo sujo ao redor, mas dando-lhe um certo alento. Mas nada como em Palmeiras Selvagens. Os embates interiores do protagonista afetam tudo, a amante, o marido, o puritano, a prática mulher do puritano, o policial, as filhas. “Isso é demais, há um limite para tudo! Normas! Para a fornicação, o adultério, o crime e o que ele queria dizer era Há um limite para tudo a menos que alguém se torne Deus que sofreu assim tudo que satã era capaz de conhecer!” A frase determina o romance. Editado originalmente junto com um segundo romance curto, O velho, esse Palmeiras Bravas, na única edição que não partilha mas domina de ponta a ponta, sem as alternações convencionadas pelo próprio Faulkner, é de fato impartilhável. Ao falar de amor, destrói a “honrabilidadehonorabilidade”. Ao falar de filhos, destrói a noção de que seja algo para qualquer casal de seres humanos de sexos diferentes. Ao falar de dinheiro, vai muito além de consumo capitalista. Reduz dinheiro a subsistência, que se torna tudo de que um casal deve precisar, e mesmo assim, e mesmo assim... Portanto, a célebre última frase é apenas a coroa da majestade que dominou as duzentas páginas anteriores: se eu me tornar nada, todo o recordar deixará de ser. . E pensou: Entre a dor e o nada, portanto, eu escolho a dor. Mas o nada é tudo. E a dor pode ser insuportável.

Victoria Young

The two novellas that together make up Wild Palms (aka If I Forget Thee, Jerusalem) are at first glance quite different stories: The first (Wild Palms), featuring an idealistic unmarried couple striving to live an authentic, passionate life, meanders all over America from the Gulf Coast to Chicago to the Colorado mountains; the second (Old Man) is closely anchored to the geography of the Mississippi Delta and provides a convict's insight into the disastrous flood of 1927. Where Wild Palms is an earnest and tragic story of lovers resisting conformity and bourgeois society, Old Man highlights the absurd powerlessness of the individual pitted against the forces of nature.The two tales are, however, connected thematically and engage in a kind of antiphonal call-and-response, each examining opposing sides of the same conceptual coins. Both plots are preoccupied with pregnancy and the female body- while one story depicts its female romantic interest struggling to maintain her independence from the procreative functions of her body with dire consequences, the other shows its sole female character as defined entirely by her gravidity, devoid of sexuality, but birthing life in the midst of desolation. Incarceration is another common theme: on the one hand Faulkner creates a convict moving heaven and earth to return to his penitentiary, on the other, you have a man swept into prison by bad luck and circumstance. Interestingly, both protagonists do at various moments consciously choose incarceration, if for very different reasons.Where Faulkner is concerned, narrative voice is often at the forefront, but I think that is a less important feature in this work than his other novels. The use of stream of consciousness is quite minimal, and both stories rely more on omniscient 3rd person perspective than Faulkner's usual character driven and introspective point-of-view narrations. The narrative structure however, is quite tightly manipulated to highlight contrasts in the two plots, and uses chaptered 'cuts' to balance the romantic intensity of the first story with the physical trials of the second.Although it's easy to be caught up in the personal drama of Wild Palms, I think Old Man actually is the more powerful of the two. The imagery is starker, the plot more tightly written and focused on something more fundamental, more interesting than a romantic relationship, and the absurdist irony there in its ending is subtly but brilliantly done.


Greatest Faulkner book I have read so far! Fan-bloody-tastic. I liked this even better than Absalom! Absalom! And it was much easier to follow.The Wild Palms is a novel which actually consists of two different stories. Faulkner decided to interweave two different stories to build each respective story more towards its climax. Faulkner actually wanted to call this novel If I Forget Thee, Jerusalem but his editors insisted on calling it The Wild Palms, the title of ONE of the two stories in this novel. The editors won out but in editions sold today you can see Faulkner’s title in brackets. The ‘main’ story, The Wild Palms, is a classic tale of illicit love (i.e. adultery) in which a married woman Charlotte runs away with a med student/intern Harry. Many of the women in Faulkner’s novels are fascinating – usually singular, strong-willed, determined, independent, abusive or abused and Charlotte is no exception. The star-crossed lovers travel across the country, barely managing to scrape by. At one point, Harry gets a job as a doctor at a mining shaft and it is around this time that Charlotte gets pregnant. However, it is here that we begin to learn of one of the reasons why Charlotte wanted to run away – she did not want children (nor stability or those other things that most women crave). She laments that childbirth is too painful but in a typical Faulknerian masterful stroke of subtlety, he suggests to the reader that there is much more to it than that, that there is a painful past that even we the readers should not be too ready to probe into and examine and condemn. Therefore, she asks Harry to perform an abortion, which he has successfully done once before, but which is totally against his morals and principles. I won’t spoil the rest of the story for those who have not read it but it does ascend to a dramatic climax.Now, to the other ‘strand’ of the novel entitled, The Old Man. This story is about a convict who is asked to go and rescue two people stranded in a famous flood which occurred in 1927. The convict is asked to bring back a stranded pregnant woman and a man clinging to the roof of a cottonwood house. The first operation is successful but not the second. The tall convict is one of those guys whose luck just goes from bad to worse. In the end he succeeds in his operation after going through various trials and tribulations and despite the great odds that were weighed against him. He managed to navigate a skiff through incredibly treacherous waters (the flood), nearly drowning several times, going for several days without food, gets shot at when spotted by police and ends up hunting alligators with a wild bayou-rat Frenchman. What’s not to like in this story? So how are these too novels related? On the surface level, they are not related at all. According to Faulkner, he decided to write and include The Old Man strand of the story “as a counterpoint to the story of Charlotte and Harry”, which works beautifully as it sets both stories up for an exhilarating climax without letting the illicit love tale become “too shrill”. I could be going way out on a limb here, but I think there is more to it than just what Faulkner lets us onto. I believe that these stories and in particular the endings of these stories and the ultimate fates of the main characters forces the reader to question ideas of justice/injustice in the world at large. I don’t want to delve more into it than that for those who have not read the novel. Just like in Light in August, there is one ‘happy’ ending and one ‘sad’ ending to this novel. Some have pointed out, myself included (in a previous review of another Faulkner novel), that Faulkner does not create stories so much but creates atmospheres. This is very true although after reading this novel I have to say that there is a definite and very traceable plot there as well. Not only is he the master of sketching such unforgettable and singular characters in literature but he takes us headlong into their minds and deepest thoughts. And that is why some may find reading his novels difficult. In more conventional novels, much of the action occurs externally (told through a narrator) but I would like to argue that Faulkner is a great internal storyteller, just like some poets are great at writing internal poetry (for example Michael McClure). We get to see the world and the whole story through their eyes, which gives us a better understanding of who they are and why they behave the way they do and sometimes a justification for how they are or what they do, no matter how reprehensible it may be. And in this respect Faulkner is a real champion of the human heart. He wants to explore the human condition unabashedly and openly and for this I hold him in the utmost respect. All in all, I cannot rate this book highly enough. I have read quite a few Faulkner books this year, most of them good, and after reading such great novels as Light in August, Sanctuary and particularly the stunning The Unvanquished (my second favorite), this comes as a pleasant surprise and a welcome addition to the Faulkner corner of my small and humble library. Highly recommended even for someone new to Faulkner’s work as this story is very accessible, for the most part. Five stars.

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