Saturday, July 14, 2012

Guilt and Sin

Father I have committed a sin. No really. A sin of omission but a sin nonetheless. A sin so grievous that for years I lied about it, to others and to myself. Until very recently I had never read ANYTHING by Faulkner. NOTHING. I lied to others by implying and saying outright that I had. I lied to myself by convincing myself that it was not my fault. It must be the world's fault--how could I have grown up (ostensibly) in the South, yet never be required to read any Faulkner at school? And how could I major in English at an Ivy League university and be able to avoid Faulkner completely? It's outrageous. It's obviously the fault of the educational system. Although, now that I think about it, I'm not sure I was every required to read Hemingway or Fitzgerald for high school or college, but I read them on my own. Could this be right? Can I trust my own memory? If I read them, why not Faulkner? Was I scared? Was  his reputation too intimidating? Why could I read Joyce, Woolf, James, Eliot, Pound, Mann, Kafka, all the modernists (as well as the usual classics, Shakespeare, classics in French, "Great Books" up the wazoo, something from every century of English literature from Beowulf on, plus literary theory plus reading Garcia Marquez and Kundera in my spare time plus dadaists, surrealists, post-structuralists, postmodernists, pop fiction AND Jay McInerney) nonstop in college, but never any Faulkner? Where can the blame be laid? Is redemption possible?


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About Me

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New York, NY, United States
Overeducated mom, addled by constant interruptions due to demands of family and dog, trying to read books and write coherent sentences about them. Luckily, yoga keeps me centered. Sharing my love of yoga through teaching helps make sense of it all. I have a yoga blog at Since 2015, it has been my pleasure to serve as a reader for Epiphany, a literary journal publishing fiction, poetry, nonfiction, and art; on Twitter as @epiphanymag.


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