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Faulkner. Light in August. 1933. 507 pp.

Where would Faulkner be without the recursiveness of syntax (and for that matter the recursiveness of plot.) This was easily the best novel that I've read so far in the 100 novels project. I have no interest at all in the South per se, but it is interesting that Faulkner presents racism as a kind of mental illness infecting an entire society. I'm sure that's a very unoriginal observation.

The novel is focalized through characters who manifest that disease in various degrees. Nobody is free of it, even the implied author "Faulkner," whose position tips closer to that of the less racist racists.

This one took me four weeks to read. I kept starting and finishing other novels in the meantime. I wanted it to last longer. Novels I hate I read much quicker.