In my quest to 'broaden my literary horizon' I made a point to go out of this terrible 'complaisant zone' I am currently at. To be honest, my reading state is probably a lot bleaker that what I'm letting on: I have not finished a novel since three months ago! As penitensya for my incessant lack of drive and, I suppose, to jolt my brain back to the pace it used to enjoy prior to this reading drought, I decided that I must go the route of reading 'Difficult Books'. "A difficult book is still just a book", I told myself; how silly to get hung up on what other people say about how much of a PitA it is to slough through. I pride myself on reading basically everything I get my hands on. Because when all your life you've felt that reading a book was the warmest , most comfortable state to just be , it feels as natural as a breeze turning a page. So I grabbed a copy of William Faulkner's The Sound and the Fury . I am lucky enough to be at