Status Updates From Suttree

In the long days of fall they went like dreamers. Watching the sky for rain. When it came it rained for days. [...] A sad and bitter season. Barrenness of heart and gothic loneliness. Suttree dreamed old dreams of fairgrounds where young girls with flowered hair and wide child's eyes watched by flarelight sequined aerialists aloft. Visions of unspeakable loveliness from a world lost. -- C.M.

Somebody has been fuckin my watermelons. [...] What do you aim to do? Hell, I don't know. It's about too late to do anything. He's damn near screwed the whole patch. I don't see why he couldnt of stuck to just one. Or a few. Well, I guess he takes himself for a lover. Sort of like a sailor in a whorehouse. -- C.M.

Unhinged vocabulary, extremely vivid and immersive but you have to google every other word

The last time I drank some of that shit I like to died. I stunk from the inside out. I laid in a tub of hot water all day and climbed out and dried and you could still smell it. I had to burn my clothes. I had the dry heaves, the drizzling shits, the cold shakes and the jakeleg. I can think about it now and feel bad. -- C.M.

pretty good, I think (based only off blood meridian) that I prefer the southern novels to the western novels

Early times. Best little old drink in the world. Get ye a drink, Sut. Suttree held it to the light. Small twigs, debris, matter, coiled in the oily liquid. He shook it. Smoke rose from the yellow floor of the bottle. Shit almighty, he said. -- C.M.