" Caddy is gone is gone home from our house is not stable've tried to see the barn from fault was she pushed me she has escaped
you look as if I can I can Oh
blood or my blood Oh
continue walking on the fine dust, fine dust from our feet silent as rubber where the trees hung sunlight pencils "
I have not found a better introduction to this book serves as a fragment that shows the true martyrdom for which I spent to get finished. If anything has made this reading is an example of what should NOT be the literature: elitist, parochial, twisted and vain.
me explain. I started looking forward to reading, but after the first few pages had only one thing clear: that I learned nothing of what was being told. My hypothesis was that the story was told in first person by Benjy, a two or three years. About twenty pages later I discovered I was wrong, because apparently the "protagonist" met thirties. Could only be retarded.
I endured stoically throughout the first part (ninety pages) with the hope that the second should explain something. And indeed changed ... for the worse. Instead of the experiences of a now delayed recounted a day in the life of his brother Quentin, much more intelligent (Harvard student) but with a serious mental disorder. The passage I have set an example belongs to this section of the book and will serve as proof that what I say is true. Are the most insufferable pages read, I often wondered what am I doing wasting time reading this? Disjointed sentences in a vague Quentin day without a clear objective, memories without dots or commas, constant in the spatial and temporal. I must admit that I was about to give up many times and only got to go based on self-esteem and critical thinking about the future than it did on this blog.
At two hundred! comes the third part pages. Another brother in first person, a gem too: misogynist, racist and ultra-conservative but at least you find out what it does and more or less what it does.
Faulkner In the last part takes over as narrator and the novel ends with an alleged "climax" that did nothing to disappoint for the umpteenth time.
In the appendix, the author clarifies the role of each of the characters. Faulkner felt like laughing at me, amazing his audacity: it keeps the reader been tortured for three hundred fifty pages to explain to his humble intellect incomprehensible speech in a few paragraphs. me explain. I started looking forward to reading, but after the first few pages had only one thing clear: that I learned nothing of what was being told. My hypothesis was that the story was told in first person by Benjy, a two or three years. About twenty pages later I discovered I was wrong, because apparently the "protagonist" met thirties. Could only be retarded.
I endured stoically throughout the first part (ninety pages) with the hope that the second should explain something. And indeed changed ... for the worse. Instead of the experiences of a now delayed recounted a day in the life of his brother Quentin, much more intelligent (Harvard student) but with a serious mental disorder. The passage I have set an example belongs to this section of the book and will serve as proof that what I say is true. Are the most insufferable pages read, I often wondered what am I doing wasting time reading this? Disjointed sentences in a vague Quentin day without a clear objective, memories without dots or commas, constant in the spatial and temporal. I must admit that I was about to give up many times and only got to go based on self-esteem and critical thinking about the future than it did on this blog.
At two hundred! comes the third part pages. Another brother in first person, a gem too: misogynist, racist and ultra-conservative but at least you find out what it does and more or less what it does.
Faulkner In the last part takes over as narrator and the novel ends with an alleged "climax" that did nothing to disappoint for the umpteenth time.
How does this work has been published? What editor would not read five pages and throw to trash the original? How have given the Nobel for literature to Faulkner? Why it is considered "the sound and fury" as one of the finest works of American literature and even one of the best English-language novels of all time? I only
explained by the snobbery, arrogance and vanity of writers and critics. After my feat of finishing the work, had two choices: or show off my vast culture, my experience and maturity as a player, boast of having enjoyed reading the great, immense, incredible Faulkner or be honest with myself and recognize I think a huge ... snafu.
A device to satisfy the ego of the author, most audacious novel, without a timeline, no spatial order, connected to Sheakespeare with interior monologues Joyce laugh from all points of view ... a vagary without interest, over a decadent and degenerate family.
I recommend leaving this book on the shelf indefinitely won dust and read anything else, except for readers especially masochistic or philology students whose reading depends on a pass.
My Rating: illegible.
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