A Faulkner joint

"Memory believes before knowing remembers. Believes longer than recollects, longer than knowing even wonders. Knows remembers believes a corridor in a biglong garbled cold echoing building of dark red brick sootbleakened by more chimneys than it's own, set in a glassless cinderstrewnpacked compound surrounded by smoking factory purliews and enclosed by a ten foot steel- and-wire fence like a penitentiary or a zoo, where in random erratic surges with sparrowlike childtrebling, orphans in identical and uniform blue denim in and out of remembering but in knowing constant as the bleak walls, the bleak windows where in rain soot from the yearly adjacent chimneys streaked like black tears" (A Light in August)

I do love this book. It is like a down home Tarentino film in its omnipotent narration functioning as the camera does in the cinematography of film. Flashbacks and exquisite detail and beauty. His prose are so tightly wound, they blur easily in to the poetic. Image and moment.