William Faulkner was a consummate genius, a craftsman without a peer. He was wholly contingent on his writing prowess for his livelihood, and so he had to imperatively write what he thought would sell rather than what he wanted, or desired, to write. Despite such an allegory to life’s commonplace chemistry and basic needs, Faulkner also wrote for personal pleasure — a sponge on which he absorbed his deepest thoughts and interests. This was precisely what the good literary doctor had ordered — a squeegee that also engaged Faulkner’s virtuosity. It led to the emergence of his captivating works.
Faulkner’s great corpus of work embodies a variety of styles and also subject matter. Not that his attitude towards them was static, or fixed. They varied and sprouted with fulsome beauty and bounty in his imagination. In so doing, the writer in Faulkner’s magical finesse sublimated the actual into the apocryphal. What’s more, the myriad inconsistencies of life never disturbed him — he always seemed to know his characters better with every new work. This was, perhaps, one palpable reason why his judgment of characters changed from novel to novel.
Faulkner [September 25, 1897-July 6, 1962] combined the use of symbolism with a transcendent stream of consciousness — a novel approach to the writing of fiction on his own terms. This was the éminence grise of his art and grammar. It was also the springboard of his exceptional fiction — a sublime fount for his fictional Yoknapatawpha County, the setting for most of his novels. If Faulkner is highly regarded as a literary chronicler of life in Deep South, his exploration of life, with all its numerous hues, especially in the post-American Civil War context, was no less brilliant. For all their diversity, they exhale a remarkable unity, focusing on the personal histories of his characters — the Snopes family, in particular — and, on the moral uncertainties of a ‘progressively’ dissolute society.
Faulkner was, doubtless, one of the greatest writers of the twentieth century. He transformed American fiction, with a sense of place — of events dexterously determined by their background in nature. Of a sense of history with the living past, not to speak of a sense of community, and also continuity. His novels often start with a mental picture, with his ‘narrator’ being the imagined voice of the community. Although his novels are vastly varied and unified in their essentialities, Faulkner had a classy, innate knack for the vivid narrative and its freshly-minted canvas. His ken for detail, and keen eye, devolved on the ignoble in human nature, with an almost furious and, at times, a subtle contempt for our species. When he came of age, as a writer in his own write, Faulkner changed his reflective power to provoking his readers and this brought about a balance — of justice and compassion to his assessment of things. The best part: Faulkner developed a fable of the real American South in one’s journey through time and this left his indelible stamp on human destinies elsewhere.
Faulkner was the oldest of four brothers. His early childhood was influenced by the family’s Southern heritage and memories of his mercurial, hot-tempered great-grandfather, Colonel William C Falkner, a hero during the American Civil War. It was William, the novelist, who later added a ‘u’ to the family name.
Faulkner was also brought up on stories by Caroline Barr, a devoted servant, reminisced from her slavery days. Her metaphors were not really scrappy, imaginative pickings; they helped him propel his resourcefulness, which had already been aroused by the classics, including the works of Charles Dickens. Yet, Faulkner was not a great student. He dropped out of school, fell in love with the neighbour girl, Estelle Oldham, and went to work in his grandfather’s bank. Marriage was always on his mind. But, Estelle married another man.
Faulkner was now a bit desolate. He drafted into the Royal Air Force of Canada. He did not take part in action, because World War I ended before he had finished his basic training. However, thanks to his defence credentials, he was admitted to the University of Mississippi, by way of a special decree. His first forays in literature saw the light of the day in a campus literary magazine. They were all poems.
It was too good to last. Faulkner disengaged himself from the seat of learning and took up a host of occupations. In the fall of 1921, he joined a New York bookstore as a clerk. It was stop-gap. For the next three years he worked as a postmaster too. Destiny was manifest. Faulkner’s mentor, Philip Stone — the man who provided him with books in his formative years — pumped in money for the publication of Faulkner’s first book, The Marble Faun, a collection of pastoral poems. The momentous year: 1924.
Faulkner published his first novel, Soldier’s Pay [1926], a story of the return to Georgia of a fatally wounded aviator. It was a book that charmed novelist and short-story writer, Sherwood Anderson, who recommended the novel to his own publisher. Faulkner was soon to receive his first, big packet, by way of advance against royalties: a princely sum of US$200.
In 1927, Faulkner published his second novel, Mosquitoes, a profoundly satirical picture of the New Orleans literary circle. It was then that the real, big ordeal for him began. He wrote prolifically, but the stories always came back to him. So much so, the drawer of his filing cabinet was almost full of rejected manuscripts. What’s more, his third novel, Flags in the Dust was returned by the publisher of his earlier two works. The effect was profound. Faulkner took it upon himself not to publish his work again between book covers.
It was a blessing in disguise. He had accepted himself: of what his priorities would be. He thought he could now write, and really write. The outcome: The Sound and the Fury [1929], one of the greatest novels of the last century. The book is the tragedy of the Compson family, encompassing some of the most memorable characters in literature. Flags in the Dust also appeared in book form, the same year, but under a new title, Sartoris. Faulkner got a new lease of life.
Happy times were also in store. Estelle came back, following a failed marriage, and she married Faulkner soon after. It was also the beginning of a new phase — a major one at that, for Faulkner. Sanctuary, which was published in 1931, was a run-away success. It was followed by Light in August [1932] — a classy novel about hopeless perseverance in the face of morality. It tells the story of a naïve, but fearless Lena Grove, and her quest to find the father of her unborn child, and two other protagonists. The novel is a streaked blending of colours, subdued and yet luminous. A powerful novel, it’s more searing than its relentless portraits.
In 1935, Faulkner published Pylon about barnstorming aviators. It coincided with the tragic death of his brother, Dean, while piloting a plane Faulkner had bought two years before. This was followed by the publication of his outstanding works, viz., Absalom, Absalom! [1936], The Unvanquished [1938], The Wild Palms [1939], The Hamlet [1940], Go Down, Moses [1942], and so on. If Absalom, Absalom! is one of Faulkner’s finest achievements, a story of Thomas Sutpen’s ruthlessness, and his unceremonious end, The Unvanquished is a novel of transformation and reconstruction — a new kind of courage. The Hamlet was the first in Faulkner’s Snopes trilogy, while Go Down, Moses disclosed the complex relationship between blacks and whites, aside from man and nature.
A private man, heavy drinker, and impulsive at the drop of a thought, Faulkner was greatly influenced by the likes of James Joyce, and symbolist-modernist writers. He was practical too. Faulkner wrote several movie-scripts for Hollywood, to supplement his income; not because he loved it. He was savvy. He was also unique. A fitting tribute to his greatness was the Nobel Prize for Literature which he won in 1949.
Faulkner sympathised with the blacks. His famed maxim was — that he would survive in a world on the brink of self-destruction. This was his foresight — a voice beyond the realms of time. Timeless. As Robert Penn Warren put it so aptly, “For range of effect, philosophical weight, originality of style, variety of characterisation, humour and tragic intensity Faulkner’s works are without equal in our time and country.”
— First published in Madras Courier
[William Faulkner; Photo: Courtesy: Wikipedia]