There are some good stories within New Orleans Sketches, however I would say even those are still too constrained to ever open up adequately for the reader. And possibly the reason for this was Faulkner always attempting to conclude the stories with some piece of final wit, or an unexpected surprise, or, worse of all, a lesson to be learned. In that, they reminded me of stories that would more likely be written by O. Henry rather than William Faulkner.

However, a reader can still find here and there the gestures which Faulkner's later writing would become known for. Some random examples:

"He looked up and his entrails became briefly cold-- not with fear, but with passionate knowledge of what was some day to be." (from The Kid Learns)

"After the fiddles were silent and the sun had dropped beyond the dreaming purple hills and the bells chimed across the dusk like the last golden ray of the sun broken and fallen echoed across the rocks, we often walked." (from The Cobbler)

"And convicted of both truthfulness and stupidity, he turned his face bitterly to the wall, knowing that his veracity as a liar was gone forever." (from The Liar)

"The west was like blood: it was his own blood painted onto a wall. Supper in the pot, and night where there were no fires and people moving around them, and then all stopping as though they were waiting for something to happen." (from Sunset)

"The tune seemed to be nothing, the tune seemed to be two tunes played at the same time: it blatted and mewed and wept, filling the morning and spilling the dusty sparrows tumultuously from the eaves." (from The Rosary)

Almost every story in the collection contains a few wonderful sentences such as these, but more often than not, the stories are without the context to allow the full impact they deserve.