While Proust gently but thoroughly leads us through the inner-workings of our past, present, and future, Faulkner attempts to capture the continual and forceful vying of these elements within the mind-at the intentional cost of a coherent linear narrative. It’s interesting to confront another modernist’s take on the human experience of time while concurrently reading In Search of Lost Time. By the time the omniscient narrator closes things out in part four, the scales have been fully removed and you are left with a crystal limpidness in which you can smell the sweet southern honeysuckle and feel the rotting wood of the old barn. But gradually, before frustration has a chance to set in, the fog begins to burn off and the glare becomes less direct. Jumping into The Sound and the Fury with no prior introduction is like driving through an impenetrable fog or into a blinding glare-you can't quite tell who is who male or female black or white first, second, or third generation relative or friend or stranger. And this feeling never really dissipates. Even at the beginning, when it is possible to make out only pieces of the events, a nauseating sense of dread permeates Benji’s narrative per Faulkner’s pungent writing style. Incest, castration, suicide, racism, misogyny-this one has it all. Probably one of the most depressing stories I've read. COMPSON = Life sucks and then you die.SO DIE ALREADY!!. COMPSON = Somebody please shoot the BITCH MISS QUENTIN = Rebellious/Low Self Esteem lacks sense of rger of past and present merge.all the. A review paying homage to BENJY COMPSON'S uniquely disorienting narration:īENJY.narrator.

The sound and the fury