(New York: Farrar, Straus & Giroux,  2007) 256 pp. $11.20)

It’s my favorite first line in all the novels I’ve ever read. “Francis Marion Tarwater’s uncle had been dead for only half a day when the boy got too drunk to finish digging his grave and a Negro named Buford Munson, who had come to get a jug filled, had to finish it and drag the body from the breakfast table where it was still sitting and bury it in a decent and Christian way, with the sign of its Saviour at the head of the grave and enough dirt on top to keep the dogs from digging it up.”

There. Now you will have to stay up all night and read the whole thing.

Song of Songs 8:5-14

5 Who is that coming up from the wilderness, leaning upon her beloved? Under the apple tree I awakened you. There your mother was in travail with you, there she who bore you was in travail.
6 Set me as a seal upon your heart, as a seal upon your arm; for love is strong as death, jealousy is cruel as the grave. Its flashes are flashes of fire, a most vehement flame.
7 Many waters cannot quench love, neither can floods drown it. If a man offered for love all the wealth of his house, it would be utterly scorned.
8 We have a little sister, and she has no breasts. What shall we do for our sister, on the day when she is spoken for?
9 If she is a wall, we will build upon her a battlement of silver; but if she is a door, we will enclose her with boards of cedar.
10 I was a wall, and my breasts were like towers; then I was in his eyes as one who brings peace.
11 Solomon had a vineyard at Baalhamon; he let out the vineyard to keepers; each one was to bring for its fruit a thousand pieces of silver.
12 My vineyard, my very own, is for myself; you, O Solomon, may have the thousand, and the keepers of the fruit two hundred.
13 O you who dwell in the gardens, my companions are listening for your voice; let me hear it.
14 Make haste, my beloved, and be like a gazelle or a young stag upon the mountains of spices.