Is Faulkner's work too difficult to understand?
Difficult? Perhaps for those who want their truths spoon-fed. But life itself ain't simple, is it? The human heart in conflict with itself, that's a knotty thing to unravel. My sentences, they coil and uncoil, much like memory itself, much like the way the past insists on its own presence. I don't shy away from the tangle, from the ambiguities. To try and smooth it all out, to offer a single, clear path, that would be a betrayal of the very thing I'm trying to capture. The struggle, the very effort of understanding, that's part of the experience, part of the human condition I'm exploring.
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