Sacred Faulkner Space

"It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing."

When I was writing my Senior Thesis in the Spring of 2009, I would shut my door and become a recluse for hours on end - reading The Sound and The Fury over and over again. If this seems like a recipe for insanity, that's pretty accurate. I wrote my thesis specifically on the first part of the novel, narrated by Benjy, a member of the Compson family with severe mental disabilities. Faulkner's method of narration from his perspective, with all its seemingly nonsensical prose and imagery, was unprecedented and, in my opinion, genius.
My general argument was that Benjy is an "idiot savant", a psychological phenomenon where people of low IQs possess genius-level memories or mathematical skills, like the recognition and prediction of patterns. I remember reading a study on one idiot savant that could do multiplication of huge numbers in seconds - the kind of problems usually only solved on a calculator. Benjy's seemingly impermeable accounts of specific instances are peppered with distinct memories and observations that set him apart from his limitations. Once the reader is acclimated to the admittedly psycho language of Benjy's world, it's clear that he has capabilities overshadowed by what sets him apart in the first place.
But, I don't need to rehash my paper here. The point is, I sequestered myself reading some pretty crazy literature and went hours without seeing or speaking to another human being. During this time, I told my apartment-mates that I was in the "Sacred Faulkner Space", both mentally and physically, and was not to be disturbed - for better or worse.
I feel like I'm going through something similar right now. Because I was foolish and didn't start putting money away until about a month ago, I have basically brought all social activities that involve spending money to a screeching halt until I leave for Paris. The result is a lot of time spent alone in my apartment - writing, reading (sometimes legitimate books, sometimes fashion magazines), and watching alternately awesome and awesomely bad television.
The result - I think I might be going a little crazy. Cabin fever is a real thing. I know this because it is my reality. I am typically a person who enjoys being alone, and relishes pockets of solitude amidst an active social life. But this has been a lot of time with myself, and just myself.
I have to keep telling myself that this will all be worth it when I'm in Paris, being out for breakfast, lunch, dinner, after dinner, and into the early morning. After all, what's the point of going if I'm not going to live it to the fullest? 11 days of exuberant living will be pretty incredible.
I've also downloaded a blogging app onto my iPad, so I can write little Paris dispatches while I'm there. No photos until I return, since there's no way to plug my camera into the iPad. I'll just flood this blog with them when I get back. Oh, I'm already bursting with excitement - exactly three weeks to go!

Two little postscripts.

This glorious video:



And this gem from Jezebel's "Drink 'Til He's Witty: The Reader's Drinking Game", to undercut all the Faulkner-ian pretension happening here:

William Faulkner: Every time a sentence goes on for more than a page, drink the entire bottle. Then make out with your sister.*

*I would not recommend this. To anyone.