Quite some time ago, I spent a whole year analyzing this novel.
I was blown away by its literacy, its multiple aspects and layers, not to mention the sheer beauty of its language.
Re-reading a book having made that kind of impression is a hazardous enterprise, especially as I have since then considerably extended my knowledge of Faulkner's works.
Faulkner being Faulkner, however, even his "cheapest novel" (because written in order to make money) is still a masterpiece.
Existential fear and chaos, the decline of the American South, a statement on voyeurism and the evil in society are only a small part of the subjects broached in this particularly lurid Southern Gothic.
Evidence of its genius is that I put up with the blatant misogyny and covert racism in the story of this 1920s flapper who basically gets what is coming to her in the form of a corn-cob wielded by the one of creepiest villains in literature.