Bosca Dubh

Where exactly it turned dark, I’m not sure. The story was rejected on one of its first outings because “[u]sually … there is a motive for violence, and there did not seem to be a motive here.” Which is probably an accurate statement, except, of course, to anyone who spends time with little kids.

So, lubricated by a pint of bourbon (well, two glasses–I’m not Faulkner) and a sunny summer afternoon while I waited for some contractor or other to show up and do something about the upstairs project my wife has initiated, I set out to reproduce in Faulknerian tones and Hemingwayesque counterpoint a little discussion of what America would be like if we all did, in fact, take up Faulkner one summer.