Definitely a masterpiece, with Faulkner at his constricted best. On the surface, it's about a family setting off to bury their mother according to her wishes. Thing is, she's already in the coffin atop of the wagon, and the buzzards are taking notice. But the stench and carrion are nothing compared to the violent acts of hate, lust, meanness, despair, and of course love displayed by the "mourners" along their journey. When the mother's coffin falls off the wagon and cracks open into a swollen river, her youngest son doesn't understand the scene, and all he can say is "My mother is a fish." Only Faulkner!