I'm taking some classes for old folks at Johns Hopkins. (I qualify.) One of the instructors asked us to send him an e-mail so that he'd have all our addresses. I wrote, "Since we're doing a Faulkner story next week, maybe I should bring a pint of Bourbon. Faulkner would have wanted it that way." I expected him to say that wasn't allowed, but instead he said, "Is a pint enough?"
So yesterday I put my partially consumed bottle of Knob Creek and a
few plastic cups in my briefcase. Believe me, I had misgivings. It
didn't seem like a hard drinking group, and I didn't want to get any golden agers drunk in the middle of the afternoon.
But they were enthused (as old
folks can be) when I took my bottle out, and they poured a few fingers in their
cups as I passed it around.
The story was "That Evening
Sun Go Down," about as accessible as Faulkner gets for me. An excellent
discussion ensued. Boy, that story has depth. And how about those Compsons?
What a crazy bunch!