I've been on quite the reading binge this summer.

Just goobled up Nicholas and Alexandra, all 571 pages, in eight days. The old dave might have spent six months or a year on that.

I'm still in the middle of The Genius Factory, but I had this urge to sink my teeth into something meatier. So I started Infinite Jest, which is 981 freaking pages before footnotes, which didn't necessarily intimidate me, though I'm 43 pages in and it's depressing the hell out of me.

Could be just that I was depressed early this week. Could be it. Intermittendly loving it and getting dragged down by it. Wasn't sure why for awhile, then I realized how incredibly detached it feels. Distant from its characters. He doesn't seem to really care about them.

Which thought immediately sent me scurring for Chekov, though he seems to have escaped from his post--peeking with his little monocle through the latticework of my bookend just above my writing table. I only have the one book of shorts by him in the house. (Which isn't actually a house, of course.)

But then today I was roaming the bookstore--Tattered Cover, one of Denver's few manmade treasures--and spotted Oprah's summer book selection. Three Faulkner classics, all the wonderful Vintage editions, packaged into a beautiful slipcase. On sale for 22 bucks. How could I refuse?

Especially since, as I will admit here and now, I made it out of not just high school, but grad school, in English, without ever laying eyes on a sentence of his. (Not that he wasn't required. I had this authority problem for awhile. Couldn't read anything assigned. Also became a game to see how high I could score just faking it from class discussions. Not in grad school, of course. But it was too late.)

So here is the question for you:

Where to start?

Three books in the set.

Chronologically (in order of his writing):

• The Sound and the Fury
• As I Lay Dying
• Light in August

Yet Oprah has assigned them in this order:

• As I Lay Dying
• The Sound and the Fury
• Light in August

She just flipped the first two. Because Dying is easier to work your way in, maybe? Not a bad reason, if that's it.

Or should I stick with Infinite Jest awhile?

I really do feel Faulkner calling me, though, which usually indicates the road to proceed. Hopefully I'll manage to get back to Jest. Perhaps to catch my breath with something exceptionally modern, after one or two of these Faulkners.

Ever since I finished The Sheltering Sky--in May, feels like an eternity ago now in reading time--I've been thirsting for another novel that will completely rock my world. Don't seem to appear every day, those worldrockers. (The link in this case is to my blog entry on it, though I was way too lazy and/or intimidated to try to capture any of the rocking.)

Nicholas and Alexandra was one great piece of meat, and wonderful writing, though the author was often an incredible jackass. Got way too close to his material, or something. Just really strange to read 500+ pages of indictment of those two ghastly people--He merely pathetic, she despicable--only to have him jumping in incessantly to apologize for them. What!

That's one book that never should have been written by a hardcore monarchist. (Whether he cops to it or not, he worships the ground royals walk on. Clearly, he feels his/our inferiority deeply.) Almost comical in that regard, but infuritating.

Still, I had a wonderful time with it, screaming back at him in the margins with my little blue pen.

And hey, I guess getting angry at a book is OK. Lot of good there. As long as I can respect it.

OK, so I'm still waiting for my answer. Seriously. Comments, people, or email me. This is a real dilemma for me, and I want to get started on this Faulkner guy like . . . now, actually. So which should it be? Order please, and a reason. Thank you.

Garrison Keillor is back writing a weekly column for Salon. (Every Wednesday.)

Yeaaaa!

They started with a one-time twofer, and the second column, Save Your Fire, neatly captures my feelings on the John Roberts nomination. His opening:

Had the president nominated a bullet-headed troglodyte for the Supreme Court, Democrats were prepared to take to the phones, fire up the Web sites, and sic the dogs of direct mail on him, but when he brought forth a summa cum laude Harvard man, the crowd quieted down and the dogs crawled back under the porch. The gentleman, John G. Roberts, has a fine résumé and did well at Harvard. Barring some unsavory revelation about close ties to the Gambino family or membership in a secret militia group, welcome to the Court, sir.

His conclusion:

There were worse nominees Mr. Bush might have sent up and he did not. So save your fire for another day.

And my favorite passage of all, because it's a truth so often lost in the current climate:

There is of course a good chance that beneath this cool exterior is a cool interior and this thought gives conservatives acid reflux. Maybe Harvard got into the gentleman's head and he does not aspire to be a crusading knight and wreak vengeance on the forces of secularism. He was nominated because he doesn't give off a strong enough scent to get the dogs excited, but maybe he doesn't smell conservative because he is actually a moderate. Yikes. The truth is that every conservative has a liberal hopping around inside and vice-versa. None of us is purely one or the other. Life is messy and if you experience it close-up and not just from books, you're going to be inconsistent. A good mind confronts the essential facts and does not necessarily see what other minds see.