Oh my god, these two.
HT: They are gods.
“Between grief and nothing,” wrote William Faulkner, in The Wild Palms (1939), “I will take grief.” I thought of this famous Faulkner quote as I read and re-read Jason R Jimenez’ mesmerizing novel The Wolves for the book seems to mirror the unusual structure of The Wild Palms to a certain extent—each novel tells two complete stories that exist in different eras, and because, again like Faulkner, Jimenez salutes a world in which nothing can go right, a damned world nevertheless blessed for its substantiation in human flesh, the “place of excrement,” as Yeats said. I have never read a story as consuming, as sexual, and driven as the passion burning up the narrator of “Wolf,” an anorexic affair in which the lovers reward each other with orgiastic frenzy only if they keep losing more and more weight, til both are skeletons with a bit of flesh still lingering on. Similarly, in the widescreen Biblical epic of “Catherine,” the passions that animate the mystic Catherine of Siena are not sexual—not quite, but they are enough to bring a city down in flames and to cause Satan to reach up from Hell to try to seize the transgressor. A tour de force of pleasure and pain that will make you blush down to your core.