Sunday, August 21, 2005

Tell us how you really feel.

I've always known that El Presidente di Fagistan hearts Wm. Faulkner. Today he dropped this:
Most of the critical reaction is to The Sound and the Fury, of course, which is largely considered third only to Ulysses and The Waste Land among Mondernist achievements. As most of you should know, I find the novel's reputation to be unwarranted. Of course, it is a staggering masterpiece of almost limitless potential. But Faulkner wrote at least three novels that are superior to it, including As I Lay Dying which is certainly the finest novel ever written and probably the best single work of art ever made.


I love heedlessly bold declarations like that and wish I could make them. I get all caught up in the fact that, well, when it comes to lit, I am way out of my league. (The list of canonical books that I haven't read is appalling.) I guess I'd be better suited to making bold pronouncements about film, but... yeah, the list of canonical films I've yet to see stagggers. (I still haven't seen an Ozu film. Or an Ophüls. Or a Bresson. Or... You get the [pathetic] picture.)

If you feel like letting a sweeping statement about art off your chest, leave it in the comment section.

Sidenote: At dinner this past Friday, a friend (loudly) asked: "Why am I eating dinner with you fuckers, when I could be watching Tucker?" It's a question that, I'm sure, has never been asked before. Somewhere, Francis Ford Coppola is smiling.

4 Comments:

At 4:57 PM, Anonymous J. Murtell said...

I hate Dave Eggers.
I've tried not to, but alas.

Snivelling self-serving pretentious indulgent wallowing rambling drooly snotnosed diuretic dribble

I feel strangely freed.

really enjoy your blog, btw. I've become a regular reader. :)

 
At 11:14 PM, Blogger Joshua said...

I don't think you have to be completely versed in the Canon to make insanely sweeping statements about art. I've not read Ulysses, just for starters. Certainly, I should be open to changing my mind if it turns out that all that crap about masturbating in Dublin really is better than all of Faulkner's sublime, eerie incandescence. I'm just not willing to bet on it. To be just as sweeping and obnoxious as I was to start with, literature begins and ends with William Faulkner. And Faulkner begins and ends with the Bundrens.

 
At 11:30 AM, Blogger Tim said...

Off topic, a bit: There is nothing worse than having someone respond to an expressed opinion with a snicker and then "tell me how you really feel."

 
At 4:59 PM, Anonymous Boris said...

I hate David Foster Wallace.

 

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