Finally finished reading As I Lay Dying.
What the fuck?
If I ever attempt to write a creative work in the stream of consciousness style that's longer than, say...twenty pages or so, somebody slap me. Or get me whatever drugs Faulkner was on.
God damn. Whatever you do, don't try to make sense of this thing at two in the morning. Unless you're with a bunch of other English majors and you're all three sheets to the wind. This is the sort of literature that just demands the company of alcohol. Maybe I'll come up with a drinking game. Every time Darl says something psychic, take a shot. Every time Jewel swears, take a shot. Every time Anse acts like a total dickhead, take a shot.
...nevermind. I'd get alcohol poisoning before I even reached the halfway point.
Edit 3/21/12: My dad came up with the most brilliant analogy for As I Lay Dying (or any stream of consciousness work for that matter): "It's like yodeling in a cave--you are still in the dark with a great deal of constant feedback you just don't give a shit about".