Dear Reader,
I live in a house made of books, but choosing one to begin a
serious, committed read is often a challenge, much like pushing
my cart down the aisles of a market and not knowing what I might
feel like eating for the next week. Someone might ardently suggest
a title or author, and I listen patiently, trying to judge if
it sounds like a worthy use of time and effort. Or I might read
a book review, cave in, and order it immediately.
My reason for plucking William Faulkner’s Sanctuary
off of a living room shelf this week came from a New York
Times “By the Book” feature, in which an author
answers questions focused on reading tastes and defining moments
of his/her/their reading history, such as “What books are
on your night stand?” and “What books are you embarrassed
not to have read yet?” This set included “Your favorite
antihero or villain?” My brain exploded involuntarily with
one word: “Popeye.” Not the cartoon sailor, but a
main character in William Faulkner’s Sanctuary.
I read the book in my 20’s, but like most traumatic experiences,
just thinking his name reinstilled fear in my bones. The chilling
flashbulb memory lay in the description of Popeye’s eyes:
“two knobs of soft black rubber.” And there it was
last week, at the top of page 2, having the same effect. To
compound and confound the experience, I elected to read the
book aloud to myself and listen to the rhythm and richness of
Faulkner’s language, quirks and all. And be terrified all
over again.
As I began reading, I remembered a disappointing 1961 film adaptation
blending it with Requiem for a Nun, which inexplicably
left out Popeye, cherry picking characters and situations from
both books. What was Hollywood thinking?
Why would I elect to relive this misery? Is there a need to
know that fear can safely sit between book covers and not confront
me directly, like my recent encounter with a coyote? Is it wanting
to be held inside a world, no matter how terrifying, imagined
by the 1949 Nobel Prize in Literature writer? And here’s
another question: Why, 50 pages into the book, when Popeye was
not behaving menacingly on the page, did I miss him? What do
I have in common with these characters? How many situations
have I put myself into that ended badly? What does “too
late to escape” mean?
In this time of rising censorship, choosing a book slated for
a serious, committed read can come from anywhere. We can be
grateful when the choice presents itself, unless the title has
already been banned.
