Back from vacation, nearly through Volcano

After a harrowing few days in Orlando and several frustrating days in airports, I'm back home, drinking coffee and savoring the last few chapters of Under the Volcano. A beautiful tragedy of a book. The writing seems to me some kind of surreal combination of Faulkner and Fitzgerald - it has the depth and complexity and dreamlike ponderous quality of Faulkner combined with the surprising clarity Fitzgerald lends to human interactions. I am absolutely loving it. It is the type of book I feel I am going to need to read again - too many references and mythic/mystical/Mexican allusions to take in on one reading.

I wonder if it is possible to write a book like this anymore - or if I am doomed to impersonal and tongue-in-cheek postmodernism. I certainly hope not.