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A Bended Circuity by Robert S. Stickley
In Charleston, South Carolina, amidst the “root bulb, peduncle, and withered florette” the landed gentry are converging for a grand soirée and competitive croquet.
But before “the moribund shoots of embrowning verdure” welcome the Uppers one and all, a tug of war occurs with an interloper “loosely mapped behind the grid of the secondary screen door.”
Strange happenings ensue, ribald humor abounds, the south will not rise again. It is already risen. So our demagogue collects his band of cheerfully named misfits and marches… south.
But enough of the tale, or rather, let’s not presume to spoil the unspoilable.
For all of the wonderful prose of Robert S. Stickley, for all of the unfamiliar words and the relentless density, I never once felt confused by the narrative or the characters of the novel. Maybe reading the book during a vacation helped but I think it also speaks to what he was able to achieve with A Bended Circuity.
Stickley crafted a relentlessly dense, highly challenging maximalist novel, with enough obscurity to keep the reader guessing. He performed a complex high wire act by balancing that with an eminently understandable narration.
Around the midway point I wondered if the second half would be more of the same and maybe slip a bit as a whole, 300-400 pages probably would have been enough if that was the case. Thankfully things didn’t stop there.
The long descriptive passages which dominate and delight in the first half of the novel are concatenated with a poem, a song, a letter from a wife left behind, a screed of the highest order, and as this circuitous novel bends towards its righteous conclusion, something with more gravitas than mere philosophical musings consumes us. It gives this book that weight which is needed to stand the test of time.
I’ve marked a few sections for an immediate reread because there are some extended passages that need a closer look.
In the end Stickley gives the reader what any great book gives, something to chew on. A Bended Circuity is a difficult pleasure and promises to dwell in the mind long after it’s set aside.
“All of these lineaments are fused together into one constructed mess.”
“This is heavenly.”
“This is borderline incestuous.”
“This is Friday night in the Lowcountry.”
Grab your dictionary. Pull up a chair. Enjoy this delightfully dense ribald tale inspired by our troubled times.
In Charleston, South Carolina, amidst the “root bulb, peduncle, and withered florette” the landed gentry are converging for a grand soirée and competitive croquet.
But before “the moribund shoots of embrowning verdure” welcome the Uppers one and all, a tug of war occurs with an interloper “loosely mapped behind the grid of the secondary screen door.”
Strange happenings ensue, ribald humor abounds, the south will not rise again. It is already risen. So our demagogue collects his band of cheerfully named misfits and marches… south.
But enough of the tale, or rather, let’s not presume to spoil the unspoilable.
For all of the wonderful prose of Robert S. Stickley, for all of the unfamiliar words and the relentless density, I never once felt confused by the narrative or the characters of the novel. Maybe reading the book during a vacation helped but I think it also speaks to what he was able to achieve with A Bended Circuity.
Stickley crafted a relentlessly dense, highly challenging maximalist novel, with enough obscurity to keep the reader guessing. He performed a complex high wire act by balancing that with an eminently understandable narration.
Around the midway point I wondered if the second half would be more of the same and maybe slip a bit as a whole, 300-400 pages probably would have been enough if that was the case. Thankfully things didn’t stop there.
The long descriptive passages which dominate and delight in the first half of the novel are concatenated with a poem, a song, a letter from a wife left behind, a screed of the highest order, and as this circuitous novel bends towards its righteous conclusion, something with more gravitas than mere philosophical musings consumes us. It gives this book that weight which is needed to stand the test of time.
I’ve marked a few sections for an immediate reread because there are some extended passages that need a closer look.
In the end Stickley gives the reader what any great book gives, something to chew on. A Bended Circuity is a difficult pleasure and promises to dwell in the mind long after it’s set aside.
“All of these lineaments are fused together into one constructed mess.”
“This is heavenly.”
“This is borderline incestuous.”
“This is Friday night in the Lowcountry.”
Grab your dictionary. Pull up a chair. Enjoy this delightfully dense ribald tale inspired by our troubled times.
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