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.

I’ve got some kind of a bug, so no class today (Friday).  Sorry for the late notice and see you Tuesday.  Keep reading and we’ll catch up.

As promised, a couple of clarifications:

1. I think there was some confusion about the syllabus, but if you look at the syllabus on the site, I think the confusion dissipates: I’d revised it a couple of weeks ago to smooth out the later deadline for the second medium wiki entry.  So it’s the second medium wiki for next week, then blog post #5 for 11/5.

2. I’ve posted a few articles on LIA in dropbox.  The essay by Leigh Anne Duck is required; the other stuff is optional.

I’ve finally nailed down a time/place for our screening of the James Franco-directed AILD that’s just come out.  BAs are welcome, auditors included, and MAs are somewhat captive, since we’re starting the screening during the tail end of class time.  Here’s the 411:

WHEN: Tuesday, 11/26 from 7pm-9:30 or so

WHERE: the newly renovated meeting space at the cafeteria on the 3rd Fl. of HW (note: MAs will meet there at 5:30 and have our class there prior to the screening)

WHY: Because I don’t know if a little movie ain’t about the nicest thing a fellow can have.

Be there or lay dying trying.

Carolyn Porter talks about the disparate plots functioning within Faulkner’s Light in August. Readers are forced by habits of normalized plot structure to attempt to entertain, within the first three chapters, connections between Lena’s pregnant journey, Byron’s factory narrative, and Gail Hightower’s isolation. Porter points out that this intentional disorientation derives from Faulkner’s understanding that plot was “formally speaking, limited in both number and potential” and Faulkner exposes these limits “by piling plot upon plot” (Lives and Legacies, 87). It is the seriousness and devotion to these plots that brings depth to the otherwise hokey doppelgangers of Lucas Burch and Byron Bunch or Lena’s child and Mrs. Hines’ grandchild.

These overlapping plots and digressions can be understood in terms in one of the novel’s most skillfully created images of steady movement without progression. In the first pages of Lena’s journey  Faulkner describes that “though the mules plod in a steady and unflagging hypnosis, the vehicle does not seem to progress. It seems to hang suspended in the middle distance forever and forever, so infinitesimal is its progress, like a shabby bead upon the mild red string of a road” (LIA, 8). While this image haunts the pages of the novel, Faulkner is also interested in problematizing the idea of “the middle” or unending suspension through the themes of Joe Christmas’ mixed racial identity and Ms. Burden attempts towards Southern assimilation. While both function within a liminal space (both not white or black and not northerner or southerner) they are fated to rupture this space through death. In chapter 13, the unlucky implications unignorable here, Faulkner explores these rupures through the second narration of the burning of Ms. Burden’s house.

The fire attracts the highest number of townspeople in recent memory and they all gaze at the fire “with that same dull and static amaze which they had brought down from the old fetid caves where knowing began, as though, like death, they had never seen fire before” (LIA, 288). While the gaze is static, such as Lena’s movement, the fire must not be. The fire is a moment of departure from the novels cyclical conception of movement — the before and after vastly different and the during steadily progressing.

Faulkner captures, in this chapter, a collective consciousness through the use of italicized inserts which strains against the omniscient narration that attributes the fire Burden’s and, though unknowingly so, Christmas’ transcendence of their own contradictions. “So they moiled and clotted, believing that the flames, the blood, the body that had died three years ago had just now begun to live again, cried out for vengeance, not believing that the rapt infury of the flames and the immobility of the body were both affirmations of an attained bourne beyond the hurt and harm of man.” Considering then the fire as a an “attained bourne” it is telling that Faulkner describes the firetruck as “arrogant and proud.” Proud as a symbol of the localized power and arrogant as it is convinced it will be able to remedy the heat and destruction of these deep rooted struggles (LIA, 288-9).

Indeed, within Jefferson this house could not do anything but burn. Afterall, behind these walls Christmas and Burden both hopelessly attempt to air out and resolve their own inconsistencies sexually. In Christmas’ violent and often forcible attempts to “make a woman or her,” he tries to resolve his deeply embedded conceptions of male power and its intermingling with white supremacy. At precisely the same moment Burden compromises her philanthropism by problematically shouting “Negro! Negro! Negro!” during sex, situating the black body as an object of desire and not as a subject of liberation (LIA, 260).

Compared to our previous engagements in Faulkner’s As I lay Dying and The Sound and The Fury, Light in August seems like a straightforward read. Beginning with the romantic description of Lena’s providence and faith in Lucas Burch, Lena’s story is simple and static. But, as a pregnant woman, her place in the world is dynamic–literally in between living and giving life. This obvious complication to Lena’s “unshakable,” “sheeplike,” and “allembracing” personality is set amongst the dynamic setting of time (6-7). For instance, Faulkner conveys Lena’s romantic journey “[…] like something moving forever and without progress across an urn” (7). Here, Faulkner alludes to the complicated notion of time and its transient effect not just on Lena but on other characters in the novel. 

Beginning with the images of decapitation, destruction, and wealth, Faulkner presents Joe’s persona as complicatedly as the Keatsian image of a Grecian urn. Faulkner’s theme of complication lying dormant in simplicity is evoked in the first sentence of the reader’s revelation of Joe’s sexual, religious, violent, and racial upbringing, “Memory believes before knowing remembers”(119). Uncontrollable experiences manifest an uncontrollable identity, “like the eagle” whose “[…flesh as well as all space was still a cage”(160). For Faulkner and indeed for Joe Christmas, repressed desire compresses an individual into fixed action, fixed personality, and isolation. Joe has the potential to be a loving individual, but, the only instance of love learned is memory that had been “forgotten”(136). Faulkner uses the word “believe” and “seem” to underline Joe’s persona as a once malleable thing. For Joe, it is only the bad memories that can catch up to his present personality. This rings true in our own daily lives where bad memories are the ones that stick so heavily onto our conscience. For instance, the image of the “aftertaste” of vomit-inducing experiences of violence, sex and racism–the known– come up only when Mrs. McEachern’s love–the unknown– interrupts the habitual beating of religion and the “strap” into Joe (167).  

Joe’s insistence on stasis is again underlined with the knowledge of a woman’s menstrual cycle. Upon fleeing into the woods, the same image of an aftertaste is induced upon “[…] seeing the ranked and moonlit urns,”(189). Shortly after this image of the temporal, Joe vomits, and further shows his complicated and sympathetic persona. Memory, or “the notseeing and the hardknowing[…],” is a discomfort for any young individual forming his identity(189). Every shift from Joe’s static world of violence and sex, to a world of humble knowledge of not-knowing is a sympathetic point for Joe Christmas and possibly other characteris in the novel. We will most definitely see the image of an urn alongside complicated personas such as Joe christmas and Lena who seem to desire a fixed identity.