Mosquitoes: Sucking My Will To Keep Reading — 17 weeks ago
I don’t know what to think of this book. It’s my first exposure to Faulkner, and I hear that he gets much better later in his career, and at this point I feel he kind of has to. There are flashes of brilliance but they always sputter out to nowhere. I think Mosquitoes is trying to say something about art and sex and women and the upper class and human nature, but I will be damned if I can tell you what it is. It’s so damn opaque. I don’t know what the point of the book is, other than to get a couple of cheap laughs at Mr. Talliaferro and Major Ayres. The last ten or so pages were probably the best; Faulkner writes drunken ramblings quite well. Otherwise: it’s occasionally brilliant but generally incomprehensible. I can’t say I didn’t like it, but I won’t say I liked it either.