Writers experience a bizarre rush when trying to write a very long sentence that actually functions as a sentence. (One of the first things I wrote for The Stranger, back in 2005, was a one-sentence eulogy for Hunter S. Thompson.) Have you read Ed Park's essay on very long sentences in The New York Times yet?

The most famous mega-sentence in literature comes at the end of the book, not the beginning. Molly Bloom’s monologue from “Ulysses” (1922) —36 pages in the thinly margined, micro-fonted 1986 single-volume corrected text (and actually two long sentences, thanks to an often-overlooked period 17 pages in) — sets an impossibly high standard for the art of the run-on. It breathlessly binds together all that comes before while nearly obliterating it, permanently coloring the reader’s memory in one final rush. It feels unstoppable, and then it stops.

Molly’s soliloquy is a touchstone for writers aiming to go long. A copy of “Ulysses” pops up in “Green Coaster,” the 33-page, single-sentence section that closes Jonathan Coe’s brilliant novel “The Rotters’ Club” (2001). (The BBC has reported that at 13,955 words, it is the longest sentence ever written in English.)

You should. And you should also read the follow-up blog post by Park about the one-sentence wonders he's uncovered since he wrote the piece.