Faulkner’s Light in August, is a novel that grapples with the vague notion of race and how an individual’s racial identity is determined specifically by a white male in contemporary culture. Joe Christmas, a central character of the novel, is described as “parchment colored” and by virtue of being an orphan, he nor the society surrounding him can confirm if he is black or white. Through this, Faulkner demonstrates how the very attempt to confirm if an individual is black or white, is an absurdly simple-minded and meaningless notion.

Faulkner published the novel in 1932 only nine years after the United States v Thind case, in where the United States Supreme Court decided that Bhagat Singh Thind could not be a naturalized citizen of this country because he was not white. At a time where American society had three categories for races, (White, Black, Red) Thind argued that as an Indian, his ancestry traced back to the Caucasian line, therefore giving him a White background. In response, the Supreme Court deemed that “the conclusion that the phrase “white persons” and the word “Caucasian” are synonymous does not end the matter. The term “race” is one which, for the practical purposes of the statue, must be applied to a group of living persons now possessing in common the requisite characteristics, not to groups of persons who are supposed to be or really are descended from some remote, common ancestor. It may be trust that the blond Scandinavian and he brown Hindu have a common ancestor in the dim reaches of antiquity, but the average man knows perfectly well that there are unmistakable and profound differences between them today.” (http://www.pbs.org/rootsinthesand/i_bhagat2.html)

More importantly, the Supreme Court clarifies the exclusivity of the privilege of being called white by stating that “what we now hold is that the words ‘free white persons’ are words of common speech, to be interpreted in accordance with the understanding of the common man, synonymous with the word ‘Caucasian’ only as that word is popularly understood.” (http://www.pbs.org/rootsinthesand/i_bhagat2.html) The Judicial branch clearly articulates that culture, as seen through the gaze of the common white man, and not biology dictates the understanding of race. There are countless examples that I won’t go into of why “common man” and “common speech” explicitly means “white man” and “white speech” (why don’t we have a Men’s History Month, and White History Month? because it is the standard).

In light of the Supreme Court’s ruling that who is a “free white persons” is to be interpreted by the understanding of a common man, Faulkner is writing the story of Joe Christmas, whose racial identity is vague and shifting in accordance with the people he is interacting with.  Christmas’ first memory of his racial identity is shaped by the white man at the security desk who persistently watches Christmas as he plays with other children, with a “profound and unflagging attention.” (138) Faulkner writes, “with more vocabulary but no more age he might have thought this is why I am different from the others: because he is watching me all the time.”(138) In his three years at the orphanage, it is this white man who “was a more definite person that anyone else in his life.” (137) The white man’s gaze of disgust is what Christmas realizes differentiates himself from the rest of the children. He understands that this differentiation has negative implications and thus “he accepted it.” (138) He feels deserving of punishment because he is different, because he is not white. He is not old enough to put these thoughts together but his unconscious and his memory fuel his motives and actions in his later life.

The power of a common white man in determining the race of other individuals is employed further in Joe Brown’s confession to the sheriffs about the fire. When he is accused of having been at the incident and having tried to falsely convince someone that there were no victims in the house, Brown becomes desperate and turns the case around by claiming that Christmas is a “nigger,” he contemptuously says, “go on, accuse me, accuse the white man that’s trying to help you with what he knows. Accuse the white man and let the nigger go free. Accuse the white and let the nigger run.” (97) The marshal and sheriff, who have both seen Christmas before and have never previously speculated that he was black, decide to take Joe Brown, a white man’s word about Christmas’ racial identity.

In contrast, when Christmas is leaving Jefferson, he is wandering and comes in contact with a group of women and men, in the dark where he can not see, Faulkner writes, that “he could smell negro, he could smell cheap cloth and sweat.” (117) One of the men peers down and observes Christmas, then remarks to the group, “it’s a white man.” (117) Faulkner includes this contrasting interpretation of race to show how the white man holds absolute control over the determination of race and to reveal the absurdity in the relative, irrational demarcation of race.

I’ve posted some more questions to guide your reading of the last two chunks of the novel.  If you’ve not read past ch 16 and are sensitive to “plot spoilers,” you should avoid reading the last cluster of questions.

Off-topic, but since we’re headed to the midterm, I thought I’d share this wonderful post from a CUNY colleague describing a “reverse midterm.”  Sounds like a great idea and one I’ll certainly use.  Next term.  Oh well.

A few new questions on chapters 12-15 are up on the questions page.  See you tomorrow.

Movement and time are played with in such a beautiful and interesting way in the early chapters of Light in August, especially the sections revolving around Lena. We meet her well into her journey to Jefferson, come “all the way from Alabama a-walking” (3). She has been traveling for nearly four weeks. Her voyage, “bankrolling now behind her a long monotonous succession of peaceful and undeviating changes from day to dark and dark to day again,” has been long but “peaceful.” The wagons, “a succession of creakwheeled and limpeared avatars,” having transported her along safely (7). In a few pages, we observe her entire history and are then returned to the present moment, waiting with Lena beside the road. She pulls off her dusty boots and watches the world. There is a sense that time has been stretched out here, like a piece of taffy. Faulkner takes the reader through each moment, one by one, and does, in fact, describe the journey as “something moving forever and without progress across an urn” (7).

The urn is an interesting metaphor to use here for a clear connection can be drawn between this image and John Keats’ famous poem, “Ode on a Grecian Urn.” Lena’s movements can be related to the scenes found upon the surface for they both seem to exist within this “Silence and slow Time” (Keats, 2), which does not operate within the boundaries of real time. One sliver of Lena travels are described as moving “slowly, steadily, as if here within the sunny loneliness of the enormous land it were outside of, beyond all time and all haste” (27). There is a tranquility to these images which place them outside the chaos of the real world. Everything here moves slower, so slow in fact that life “seems to hang suspended in the middle distance forever and forever” (8). It could also be said that Lena, though unwed and with child, still represents that “unravish’d bride of quietness” (Keats, 1). Despite her unfavorable circumstances, Lena has retained her faith and patience. She has not yet become embittered by the world. If we take the urn analysis further, it does seem possible that this could be Faulkner’s own story “Of deities or mortals, or of both” (Keats, 6). The comparison of wagons to avatars, the transformation of a god or goddess into human or animal form in order to fend off evil, also subtly reinforces the mythological undertones of the story and, in fact, I discovered a remark Faulkner made about the title of Light in August during a presentation at the University of Virginia. He explained that “in August in Mississippi there’s a few days about the middle of the month when suddenly there’s a foretaste of fall, it’s cool, there’s a lambence, a luminous quality to the light, as though it came not just from today but from back in old classic times. It might have fauns and satyrs and the gods and–from Greece, from Olympus in it somewhere.” With that in mind, it’s clear that there is a mysticism that surrounds this novel, which features the tales of “mad pursuit” and “struggle to escape” (Keats, 9) also found on Keats’ grecian urn.

I noticed that sight was also frequently commented upon which, along with the jumble of plots and story lines that the first few chapters contain, seemed to illustrate the importance of perception. The varying viewpoints of the different characters presented in the first chapter, for example, show the layers of truth that exist within every situation. While Faulkner remarks that Lena sees with a vision, “allembracing, swift, innocent, profound” (7), the other characters we meet fail to take as careful a look. Armstid, without ever having “once looked full at her,” can see she does not wear a wedding ring and knows immediately that she is an unwed mother. He later makes a slew of rapid judgements based on the impression he’s drawn of Lena based on his understanding of her circumstances. “‘She’ll walk the public country herself without shame because she knows that folks, menfolks, will take care of her,'” Armstid asserts. “‘You just let one of them get married or get into trouble without being married, and right then and there is where she secedes from the woman race and species and spends the balance of her life trying to get joined up with the man race. That’s why they dip snuff and smoke and want to vote'” (14-15). Armstid is never unkind to Lena but the glimpse Faulkner provides into his thoughts illustrates the skewed impression the Southern community might have towards a woman in Lena’s position which relates, of course, on a larger scale, to the conflicting perceptions of the truth of all people. They do not see with the sort of untainted, all encompassing perception Lena possesses. Although she is naive, she has reserved all judgement for as long as we have traveled beside her. In the following chapters, a number of new plots are introduced including the story of Byron Bunch who further peruses this theme of perception. “Man knows so little about his fellows. In his eyes all men or women act upon what he believes would motivate him if he were made enough to what that other man or women is doing” (47-48), he remarks at one point, quite poignantly. Similarly, a great deal of care is taken to describe certain things about Hightower that suggest an urgent need to pay close attention to each layer of truth because of the ways in which other layers can obscure things. Hightower’s house, for example, so overrun “by bushing crepe myrtle and syringa and althea,” is almost entirely concealed from the world, save for a gap in his study window where he can watch the street. So hidden, the narrator explains, “that the light from the corner street lamp scarily touches it” (57).

    After learning that the original title of Light in August was Dark House, I began to look at function of the house and the dichotomy of oikos and polis in the work, which, although it is a lens that is applied traditionally to Greek texts, is certainly present in Faulkner’s novel. The Ancient Greek life for an ordinary citizen was divided into the oikos, the life at home for men and women, and the polis, life in the public sphere reserved solely for the political and social doings of the male citizens and, although the Greek social strata and gender roles are obviously missing from the American southern setting of Light in August, this characterization of the differences between public life and private life is an element that runs through the work and is applicable to several different characters.
    Faulkner, in his telling of Hightower’s backstory, fashions a blurring of the lines of oikos and polis. Hightower was a reverend who until his eventual removal from the church lived a very public life and served an important role in the church of Jefferson. However, it was the introduction of his private life at home into his public persona which led to a much demanded banishment.  Before his removal, Hightower the reverend and Hightower the husband of a promiscuous Memphis-frequenting wife and the possible lover of his black cook were two separate entities but when rumors concerning the activities and happenings of his private life began to circulate in the town, they began to affect his reputation as a public figure in Jefferson and his oikos became intertwined with his polis, corrupting his good name. However, he refused to leave from Jefferson and began working out of his home. The sign on Hightower’s property detailing his new work has become the public manifestation of Hightower in Jefferson, confusing the lines of home and public life even more, as it is now the stand-in for his presence in the polis even though the man himself is rarely seen outside of them. After he became known publicly for his failed marriage and interracial relationships, which were originally separate matters of his private life, Hightower’s house and what went on it became Hightower himself. His oikos became his polis.
    Faulkner also characterizes Joe Christmas through this lens of public and private life. During his time spent with McEachern, Christmas is often warned of the dangers that arise from a public life; McEachern forbids socialization with the patrons of the diner and wearing a suit which he deems “some adjunct to sinning”  whose only function is to promote “lechery” (201). A suit is essentially the uniform of a man with a public life, worn by workers of jobs based in the city, a contrast from the farm labor performed at McEachern’s home. Christmas wears the suit as he sneaks off into town on Saturday nights to exist in a social and public sphere much different from the religious and work centered residence of his parents. For Christmas, the public and private are thrown into conflict when McEachern enters the town looking for him after he has come to the realization that he has been sneaking out. The following interaction between the two is a direct clash of the oikos and polis; the authoritarian, religious, and agrarian figure of McEachern, representative of the home life, has forced itself onto Christmas as he engages in activities of the social world, and for McEachern, one cannot be a part of these two entities simultaneously. McEachern believes that Christmas pulls himself away from the home, where it is more possible for him to be closer to God, to socialize with a “Jezebel” in Jefferson (204). This dichotomy is also imposed upon Christmas when the mill workers speculate about his home life. They discuss both Christmas the milll worker and Christmas the mysterious man who lives somewhere off in the woods and makes enough money to afford a car. His sexually violent relationship with Burden is, up to the point of the novel to which I have read, remains entirely in his private oikos.

Joe Christmas’s personality drastically changed over the course of ALIA, at first it seemed that he was just soft spoken, and he didn’t say anything unless he felt so inclined. He had a rough childhood, followed by a strict set of parents. But it’s not until females entered the picture that everything I thought about him changed.  It was particularly the introduction of the relationship between him and Joanna Burden that was so interesting. It began with the introduction of the relationship when Christmas said “Whether they are seventeen or forty-seven, when they finally come to surrender completely, it’s going to be in words.” It’s ironic that he thinks self-disclosure is a sign of weakness, when he himself told her his story. It seemed that this made him lose interest at the very beginning which made me wonder why he let this relationship go on as long as it did. It made me think that he wasn’t a fan of femininity, but he was a fan of sex, this theme was evident for their entire relationship.

Since he didn’t like to talk unless it was really necessary, it was strange that he would sit in bed and talk about the insignificant parts of his day. Even more interesting, listening to the insignificant parts of her day. This is the first gender stereotype that bothered him, the next was the jealousy and overwhelming need for these impulsions to leave letters and hide around the house naked. I think all he really wanted was sex in a relationship and that’s why he put up with her insanity. All he did was talk about how crazy she was, then she started talking about children. He had a certain level of disgust when thinking about marriage and children, why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free? But I don’t understand that, he must have known in his heart of hearts that she was way more into this relationship than he was. Then at the same time he continued to think they were on the same page. So when she got pregnant there were so many regrets he even told himself he should have gotten out of that relationship long ago. For someone who is so cold all the time it seemed out of character for him to feel bad about getting out of that relationship. Also, for someone who has guilt about leaving it’s strange that he left for Jefferson. Since the end of chapter 12 is where I left off I think it’s going to be very interesting to see how this pregnancy plays out. Obviously, he’s in Jefferson selling whiskey, but maybe some of the money goes back to her? Maybe he’ll have more of a heart than we’re left to believe.

In Light in August Byron Bunch has an epiphany about names and their connections to the men (and women) who wear them; Bunch realizes that “a man’s name, which is supposed to be just a sound for who he is, can be somehow an augur of what he will do” (LIA 33). The idea that a person’s name says something more about him than just what you should call him is an interesting one that Faulkner plays around with a good deal throughout many of his texts. Cash and Jewel Bundren are both characters with strong connections to their names. Their personalities, actions, and even physical characteristics in some cases are tied to the name they hold. However, Faulkner also looks at the reverse of this; he gifts one single name to several members in the Compson family effectively erasing any character traits in the process. Names in The Sound and the Fury turn characters from individuals into arbitrary versions of one person who happens to inhabit two bodies.

The repetition of family names in the Compson household creates a sense that one Jason or Quentin can be exchanged for another. Jason the father is easily replaced by Jason the son. Caroline draws almost no distinction between the relationship she had with her husband and the one she has with her son. Though Jason narrates one entire section of The Sound of the Fury he really seems to be an extension of his dead father. Caroline’s constant self-reassurance that if “he [her husband] had to be taken too, it is [Jason] left [her] not Quentin” makes it clear that her son and her husband bleed together for her (TSAF 200). One Jason has died but another Jason has been brought forward to fill his place. He’s even been given a Quentin to father and further confuse his position in the household.

Quentin too serves this same function. Though there is greater difference between the first Quentin, a man, and the second Quentin, a young woman, both Quentins are treated like punishments in the texts. The first Quentin is a somewhat queer figure who seems isolated and removed from the rest of the Compson family, both literally and figuratively. He’s hundreds of miles away from home and he’s also miles away from the attitudes of the rest of his family. When he kills himself it is almost a relief to Caroline as she is now relieved of the burden of Quentin’s strangeness. The second Quentin is brought in to bring this burden back. She serves the same role as the original Quentin and is punished for the original Quentin’s queerness and mistakes.

On the flip side of this, Faulkner presents us with characters whose names completely define them. One could not take Jewel Bundren’s name and arbitrarily place it onto another character. Darl couldn’t be Jewel; only Jewel can wear his name and all the traits that come with it. Jewel reflects his name in everything he does; he is hard and sharp and cold and entirely singular in the Bundren family. His name defines him; it predicts his actions and gives the reader a sense of who Jewel might be. The same can be said for Cash. He is industrious and forward minded; he is also the only Bundren who seems capable of doing a service that can be exchanged for money. Although, there is also an irony to Cash’s name since he has broken his leg twice and forced to refrain from working. Though Cash could be making a great deal of “cash” he often can’t work and so becomes instead a burden.

Names for Faulkner are tricky creatures. Though in reality a name is imparted with as much or as little significance as one gives it in a text names are purposeful and should impart meaning. One expects a name to speak to the reader and tell them something about the character. What Jewel and Cash tell us about those particular Bundrens is precisely the thing one expects an author to do. It is more confusing and disjointing to have a group of characters whose names do not mean anything to them; whose names in fact make the characters all into one character. But perhaps this is precisely what Faulkner intends.