Tick-Tock on the Clock, But the Narrative Don’t Stop

Upon plunging into The Sound and the Fury and voluntarily riding on Faulkner’s rollercoaster of a narrative, the motif of time and the theme of mental health and mental disability captivate the essence of the story thus far. In Chapter One, Faulkner introduces the mentally disabled man of Benjy using prose that disjoint the various memories Benjy recalls. One moment, Benjy might be talking about a memory from Christmas and the next about sometime in the spring, introducing whole new groups of characters and out-of-context dialog. This disjointedness of the narrative demonstrates that for Benjy, time is almost waistless, a non-factor, or something that flows with his Being in the world. Most notably, Faulkner uses Benjy’s seemingly simple and random memories to foreshadow future events of characters whom might take the idea of time much more seriously.

“We must be quiet while Quentin’s studying.” Father said. “What are you doing Jason?” “Nothing.” Jason said. “Suppose you come over here to do it then.” Father said. Jason came out of the corner. “What are you chewing?” Father said. “He’s chewing paper again.” Caddy said. “Come here, Jason.” Father said. Jason threw into the fire. It hissed, uncurled, turning black. Then it was gray. Then it was gone. (72).

It is interesting how in the next chapter, Quentin is introduced as a Harvard student, which correlates to Benjy’s memory of him studying at the time when Jason was chewing paper. And it is equally interesting that Jason discards the paper into the fire, where it burns away into nothing, foreshadowing Quentin’s untimely death; his suicide.

If the time-line of this story was not already disjointed enough, Quentin’s section in Chapter Two further adds to complexity of these characters. The motif of time returns in the opening of the chapter when Quentin says  “I was in time again, hearing the [pocket] watch” (76). His fixation on time and his pocket-watch might suggest that he is struggling to understand time itself and his place in the world. In a sense, Quentin’s relationship to time reminds me Albert Camus’ The Stranger, in which the protagonist, Meursault, struggles to find purpose in his life, leaving him feel almost like a stranger in what he would describe as an increasingly “absurd” world. Quentin similarly seems to struggle with himself and the world, especially with his shocking revelations of incest and plans to end his own life.

While Benjy flows like water with the relationship with time, Quentin crashes like a wave as demonstrated throughout his narrative. He rants and raves about all of the wrong he has done to himself and his family, exclaiming how “…I [he] see now that I have not suffered enough I see now that I must pay for your (Jason) sins as well as mine…” (103). His repeated and intense ramblings about memories throughout his life cut in between paragraphs and sentences. The mental breakdown and gradual decline of Quentin’s mental health is full view of the reader, jerking almost violently through emotions and past experiences, only for his soul to rest when the his own internal pocket-watch finally stops ticking.   

Questioning Sentience and Synesthesia

Benjy’s process of perceiving and understanding existence is highly overlooked and labeled as insignificant idiocy when his perception of time and relationships through sensory imagery is extremely profound. While it doesn’t allow for readers to follow a typical linear time structure, it gives the audience “…a poetic and more sympathetic understanding of existence…” also mentioning specific examples of sensory perception from The Sound and the Fury: “I could smell the clothes flapping, and the smoke blowing across the branch” (Faulkner 14).

Faulkner, through his characters and personally, expresses his disbelief in the value of Benjy’s sentience, limiting his existence to his connoted confusing, chaotic, continuously burdensome behavior. As mentioned in Adler’s essay, to Faulkner, “Benjy is ‘someone capable only of knowing what happened but not why’” (Faulkner, “Paris Review” 1) (Adler). However, when Faulkner discusses and analyzes the most effective and influential means of artistic expression, he states that music better expresses what he attempts to explain “clumsily in words” (Adler). This excerpt reminded me of an interview I watched with New Zealand pop star Lorde, who described her experiences having synethesia and the ability to see images through music. In a sense, this is similar to what Faulkner is expressing, his own belief that music better expresses images he tries to express through words, and his own use of the word “clumsily” easily draws me back to descriptions of Benjy’s behavior. Thus, I think while Faulkner may not recognize the beauty in Benjy’s abnormal mode of perception and observation, the ability to take in moments in time so intensely and utilizing all of your senses, and to remember that and process future decisions based on those moments and experiences is remarkable. I liked Carolyn Porter’s mention of Benjy’s existence being “more poetic than narrative, and perhaps more pictorial than either, especially if we include cubist painting as a reference point” (Keith/Porter 40). While Lorde may utilize her synesthesia to create highly praised Grammy winning albums, Benjy’s unique mode of processing is consistently undermined and the meaning or significance of his existence as a sentient being ignored.

Works Cited:


Keith, LeeAnna, and Carolyn Porter. William Faulkner : Lives and Legacies, Oxford University Press USA – OSO, 2007. ProQuest Ebook Central, http://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/huntercollege-ebooks/detail.action?docID=416050.
Created from huntercollege-ebooks on 2020-09-03 10:39:12.

Burton, Stacy. “Benjy, Narrativity, and the Coherence of Compson History.” Cardozo Studies in Law and Literature, 7.2 (1995) 207-228. JSTOR. 31 October

Faulkner, William. “Interview by Jean Stein.” The Paris Review. New York: 1956. Online.
//http://www.theparisreview.org/interviews/4954/the-art-of-fiction-no-12-william-faulkner//

Bread Crumbs

Quentin happens upon a “little dirty child” in a bakery, a silent Italian girl who simultaneously becomes his “sister” and his sudden responsibility. Throughout this hazy section of The Sound and the Fury, Quentin diverts between his memories and reality, projecting his confused thoughts about Caddy, innocence, and Southern honor onto the little girl who follows him like a nondescript shadow. I found that this section of the chapter seemed to mirror Benjy’s, as not only do objects act as constant triggers of the past but as Quentin is dragged throughout town by the little girl, he’s a lot like Benjy, steered by Luster as he exists in a constant state of liminality, somewhere between the past and present.

Quentin’s interaction with the little girl is made up of many different layers, the most obvious one being the way in which he projects his muddled view of sisterhood and innocence upon her. She’s automatically deemed a “little dirty child”. Although she may actually be dirty, “dirty” and “innocent” seem to be interchangeable to Quentin, both tied to memories of a young Caddy in muddy drawers. One projection leads to another, as instead of simply smiling at the girl, buying his bread, and being on his way, Quentin calls her “sister”, becoming her surrogate brother and protector in only a few moments. This idea becomes all the more clear when contrasted with how the baker judges the girl, viewing her as an archetype, a filthy, foreign thief who she could care less about. But Quentin calls her “sister”, not a cute nickname, but a signifier of his qualms, past, and Caddy herself, and as he notices he’s being followed, his role as a Southern gentlemen means he must guide her home. As they’re on their way he says, “Don’t you reckon you’ll get a whipping for not coming straight home with that bread?” (111). Quentin’s world is threaded by honor and consequence, but as bread crumbs fall and memories begin to unravel, we see that Quentin’s state of mind is just as disoriented as Benjys.

In her journal article “The Language of Chaos: Quentin Compson in The Sound and the Fury”, Mary Cameron Brown states, “His major actions in the present– caring for the Italian girl… are reflections of the most significant aspects of his past– caring for his real sister and defending her honor accordingly to his distorted chivalric code” (545). Quentin’s life is framed by chivalric necessity, not because he cares about being just or righteous, but because it’s the only way he can think of fixing his past, fixing Caddy’s mistakes. As he walks with the girl he says, “Poor kid, you’re just a girl”. But is she really so poor and helpless? Quentin fails to realize that the little girl can take care of herself, fails to understand that mere curiosity is what keeps her following him and not neediness. But then again, Quentin isn’t quite rooted in reality or the present. And then there’s the girl’s bread, a symbol used by Faulkner to signify Quentin’s deteriorating grasp on life. The loaf brings the two together and only grows soggier and nastier as their interaction persists. Quentin continues to divert between the past and present, attempting to make sense of his memories, trying to “wipe the loaf” but only making it worse. It’s an odd sort of scene in which it almost feels as if had no one come to claim the girl, the two would’ve just continued wandering around, lost to time.

Quentin’s obedience to the Southern honor code is not rewarded. Instead, he is met by a ravaging brother and is almost jailed. It reminded me of when his father tells him that virginity essentially means nothing, that it’s all “just words”. Quentin is told this again and again, but he continues to strive to live and die by ancient codes. And as Quentin and the little girl part, he attempts one last try at brotherhood, “I waved my hand, but she made no reply” (120). It makes one wonder, if the girl had been a bit more vocal, or if the older brother had awarded Quentin, maybe his fate would’ve turned out different. Maybe what Quentin was searching for was one last sign that things like chivalry and honor matter, a sign of purity that he could’ve found in the little girl with a “face like a cup of milk dashed with coffee in the sweet warm emptiness” (103).

Time and Quentin’s Suicide

Throughout Quentin’s section, he reveals an obsession with time, and with escaping from time. His first thought on awaking on the day of his suicide is “I was in time again,” as he ascertains the time from the position of shadows in his room (76). One of his first act of the day is to twist off the hands of his watch (80). One can view his suicide at the end of the day as his most drastic gesture toward escaping time. While this may be true, I believe that it is not so much the suicide itself, as it is the meticulous planning and absolute resolve that allow Quentin to both exist within time and simultaneously escape from time, at least temporarily.

And it is clear that Quentin has planned his suicide carefully. Previous to the day narrated in his section, Quentin has prepared letters, presumably suicide notes, to his father and to his friend Shreve (81). He prepares a second outfit knowing he will return to his apartment later to change (81). He buys the irons that he will use to weight himself down in the water well ahead of time, and leaves them at the bridge where he will jump into the river later in the day (116). We as readers are privy to Quentin’s many thoughts, but he apparently does not question his intention to kill himself at all, and when he does think direcly about the act, it is with a certain serenity: “And then I’ll not be. The peacefullest words. Peacefullest words.” (174)

According to Martin Heidegger, one of the fundamental problems of human existence in time is the fact that one never has access to the whole story: one can remember the past and be aware of the present, but future events are unknown. The one moment we have access to this totality is the moment we cease to have access to anything–our death. For as long as we are alive, our understanding of ourselves is incomplete. As Heidegger wrote, “This ‘not-yet’ ‘belongs’ to Dasein [human existence] as long as it is; this is how things stand phenomenally” (Heidegger 286). Quentin attempts to circumvent this shortcoming of existence within time by planing the rest of his short life out in meticulous detail, so he will know, or come close to knowing, the unknowable “not-yet,” at least for a day. Quentin frees himself from some of the negative aspects of time, while still existing in time, just as his watch stripped of its hands continues to tick in his pocket.

(The Heidegger reference is to the Macquerrie & Robinson translation of Being and Time; all other references are to the Vintage edition of The Sound and the Fury.)

Two Jimsonweeds in a Bottle

It’s said that Christ was dead for three days before he was resurrected. Once he arose he shed any indication of the death that grappled him to the crucifix. Breathing life anew on a day in April which is Christianly referred to as Easter. The week leading up to it is commemorated as the Holy Week. April is the epitome of springtime, with the resurrection of nature from its previous decaying self. The blossoming of flowers, the vibrant colored leaves breathing life once again as Jesus did on his third day of being dead long ago. April 7th 1928: Benjy Compson’s 33rd birthday, also the day before Easter, yet throughout his piece there is no indication of life, joy, or purity. Only the non-linear windows of death, excruciating cries, and the loss of purity. The first part of The Sound and the Fury is encapsulated by the echo of springtime and signifying signs that serve to juxtapose the Compson family’s downward spiral. But most notably, its connection to the center of Benjy’s world: Caddy. 

Caddy herself is April, she is Benjy’s spring and will always be so. This may be why there’s a kind of simultaneity to Benjy’s thoughts and his memories. Caroline Porter sums this idea up quite nicely when she writes, “The opening section of the novel, in fact, is not a story at all, but a pastiche of moments as experienced by Benjy at various points in his life. There is no plot, no beginning or ending. Instead a dense array of images is established, centered around Benjy’s anguished loss of his sister” (Porter 40). We see in TSAF how within Benjy’s section, we can often trace his sensation of smell (in particular trees) and his touch as flowers which pop up everywhere intermitetly. Flowers and trees being emblems of springtime themselves. The association of the smell of trees is linked to Caddy physically being present and the flowers are often (but not always) connected to her absence. Both the smell of trees and flowers serve as a strong symbolic substitute for Caddy, the latter which helps calm him down when he’s “crying” or “moaning” when Caddy is no longer there. 

The earliest point where this can be seen is when Lester is flustered with Benjy’s crying and Falkner writes, “What are you moaning about, Luster said. You can watch them again when we get to the branch. Here. Here’s you a jimson weed. He gave me the flower” (TSAF 6). This flower is presumed to have calmed him down. The connection between Caddy and flowers is not something that is immediately discernible but there are instances that point to it. One of them being when Caddy and Benjy go to deliver Uncle Maury’s love letter together. Benjy notes, “She climbed the fence with the letter in her hand and went through the brown rattling flowers” (TSAF 13). In another memory where Benjy goes to deliver the letter without Caddy he observes, “Mr. Patterson was chopping in the green flowers…I began to cry” (TSAF 13). Two different instances, one with Caddy and the other without. The first flowers are associated with an auditory sensation while the second is associated with chopping.  

Periodically Benjy mentions how,“Caddy smelled like trees” (TSAF 6). Perhaps the most pivotal memory Benjy has is when Caddy climbs up a pear tree. “We watched the muddy bottom of her drawers. Then we couldn’t see her. We could hear the tree thrashing” (TSAF 39). This part not only foreshadows her impurity, but it also may symbolize the turning point through use of the word “thrashing.” A violent movement, or some sort of struggle, Benjy struggles excruciatingly after Caddy is gone. This is noted by Porter when she states, “…Benjy is in pain, continual and fundamentally irremediable pain” (Porter 44). 

Towards the midpoint of his section we see 33 year old Benjy, in a sad yearning gesture join two flowers in a bottle, “There was a flower in the bottle. I put the other flower in it…I tried to pick up the flowers. Luster picked them up, and they went away. I began to cry” (TSAF 54-55). His preoccupation with flowers serves to ease the suffering he’s in by the loss of the only person who loved him. Perhaps this gesture was his way of communicating his longing for his flower, his springtime, his April, his Caddy.

Lack of Love Demonstration

In the first chapter of The Sound and the Fury by Faulkner, we can see the lack of love demonstration towards Benjy by the majority of the characters, except Caddy. She is the only one who shows her love and dedication to Benjy. This love is reciprocal because Benjy also likes to be near Caddy and feels well and safe when she is around and this is why he starts to remember him when he is up the fence with Luster. For example, throughout chapter one, Benjy is constantly describing how Caddy smells, “Caddy smells like trees . . .” (Faulkner, 6). This shows us that he enjoys her company because she reminds him of things that he likes such as trees, leaves. She represents a person that is important to him and therefore, he does not want her to leave his side as it shows when she goes away and he starts crying until she comes back to him. It is like a dependence that he has on Caddy because she is the person with whom he feels protected and happy. We can see as she holds his hands to go out of the house and she is always trying to understand what he is needing to say. 

Furthermore, Caddy lets Benjy know that he can always count on her, “Caddy knelt and put her arms around me and her cold bright face against mine. She smelled like trees. “You’re not a poor baby. Are you. Are you. You’ve got your Caddy. Haven’t you got your Caddy”” (Faulkner, 9). What Caddy says to Benjy in these lines is in response to how his mother referred to him before they left the house. She called him “poor baby” and Caddy affirms that he is not a poor baby, but it is so interesting because it is like she is saying that he is not a poor baby because he has got her. Thus, she also thinks that Benjy has a dependence on her and that she must always be there to take care of him. 

Nonetheless, there are characters that are the opposite of Caddy regarding her affection for Benjy. Benjy is remembering Caddy when she came home the day before Christmas. His mother seems to overprotect him in order for Benjy to not get sick when Caddy wants to take him outside. Readers might think that she is actually caring for his health, but if we deeply think, all she cares about is her Christmas party. This reflects when she says, “”Are you going to take that baby out without his overshoes.” Mother said. “Do you want to make him sick, with the house full of company”” (Faulkner, 8). Benjy getting sick on this day means that he will “ruin” the party for her because she will have to take care of him and therefore, the party will have to be canceled. These lines do not exemplify a mother’s concern about her child, but a woman who worries more about her son “ruining” her party than her actual son. 

Benjy lives with a dysfunctional family formed by two parents that do not properly take care of their children. Carolyn Porter states, “Faulkner ‘‘works up to’’ this moment, exploring the failure of the Compson parents to provide the love and care they should, and thereby leaving Dilsey and Caddy with the responsibilities of both fathering and mothering” (Porter, 47). Caddy is Benjy’s sister, but has to play the role of a mother because the special attention that Benjy requires is not provided by his actual mother. Hence, this is what leads Benjy to have this great love for Caddy because she is the only one who worries about him and dedicates her time to make him happy when he was a child. 

As we know, Benjy cannot talk, therefore, when he tries to communicate or he is feeling uncomfortable, he moans. This is something that annoys Luster because he does not understand what Benjy is trying to say. As it states, “Cant you shut up that moaning and slobbering, Luster said. Aint you shamed of yourself, making all this racket” (Faulkner, 9). In the present time of this success, Benjy must be moaning because he remembering Caddy and the moments that he used to have with her. However, Luster does not know this; he does not understand Benjy and he does not try to communicate with him and know what is happening to him. Instead, Luster insults him, not knowing that it is not Benjy’s fault to not speak up. 

Chaos or Tacit Traversal?

Carolyn Porter begins her study on Faulkner with an appeasement that almost promises that a second read of The Sound and The Fury will merit many benefits: “Although it (TSAF) seems chaotic at first read, it is, in fact, an exquisitely composed and perfect work,” she says. This poses the question, is she right? Is TSAF actually traversable? Or is it just a dense and garbled bit of pretentious literature that strays from the conventional and well-embraced narrative schema? One can argue that the unrelenting, ubiquitous, and unwarned leaps through the respective narrators’ real-time and flashbacks causes disorientation and feeling of vertigo within the reader, and ultimately turns off the idea of even revisiting the novel. But, to me and Porter alike, we believe that Faulkner gives a bit more credit to the capacity of his readers. There is a map hidden within the structure that, after a second read, or a very careful first read, readers can exploit and take the helm at putting the tumultuous puzzle of the Compson family together. 

The opening section, commonly known as the “Benjy” section serves as a guideline, at least to me, to traversing the rest of the novel. Benjy doesn’t perceive time the way “normal” people do. Everything is happening to him in the present of April Seventh,1928. For him it is his habitual way of experiencing the world, but for us, this constant back and forth could be “dizzying” as Porter better says. This isn’t a cause for alarm, however, because Faulkner has some contingencies in place to help navigate. By naming the sections by their respective present, we are instantly given a center, or a focal point. 

Then, to really battle with the rippling change in time throughout the narrative, it is critical to focus on the secondary characters that take care of Benjy. “Listen at you, now.” Luster said. “Ain’t you something, thirty-three years old, going on that way.” (TSAF. 3) Luster says in his opening bit of dialogue while he and Benjy search for a quarter by a golf course (this golf course also gives us a hint of where we are in time). With this in mind, by placing the character of Luster and the title of this section in cohesion, Faulkner has given us the plan or piece of a blueprint, even though he openly has said that he had no plan at all, to navigate. We know that as long as Luster is in the scene taking care of Benjy, we are in the present, and when Benjy is being taken care of by the likes of T.P and Versh, we are most likely in the past. It is these hints and pieces that place us in specific points in time.

Another hurdle that could distract readers is the characters with the same names that are present within the novel. For example, there are two Quentin’s’, two Jason’s, and two Maury’s. The trick here is to pay close attention to the pronouns attached the names. With this adequate technique, Faulkner is not just all over the place but careful to keep his readers engaged and working to conquer this difficult text. When a “she” is attached to Quentin during the Benjy section, the novel is somewhere near the present in which the name Quentin belongs to Caddy’s illegitimate daughter, and when “he” is attached to Quentin, the pronoun refers to the eldest Compson. Maury could be referring to Benjy’s previous name or Uncle Maury which is simple enough because Uncle Maury is, most of the time, Uncle Maury. 

By exploiting the presences of these characters and roles, we as readers are able to narrow down a time frame and put together a linear and cohesive story in our minds somewhat resembling the well-known story structure, regardless of the difficult style of writing Faulkner embraces. Small details like this help readers keep track of the hazardous events being depicted all at once through Benjy’s jagged perspective, but the issue is that they’re hard to catch and throw us for a loop. This inverses stream of consciousness follows through to Quentins section as well which is, arguably, more difficult than the Benjy section, however, If we’ve been careful, we’ve had some practice on how to read this book with the Benjy section. Benjy’s section serves as, I like to say a “dump of information” which we as readers make sense of in the following sections of the novel.

With this in mind, I believe that Faulkner indeed had a plan, contrary to his own description of his writing process. These subtle hints introduced during the Benjy section of the novel pave the way for how to read the entire novel which fights against the linearity of time in order to create a disorienting but ultimately effective narrative about family, shame, social standings, disabilities, death, and love.

The Method Loci

While Benji’s mind in The Sound and The Fury can seem disorienting, his visual associations function as a mnemonic device that once understood, pulls us into the novel much more viscerally than any plot driven narrative. First lets look at the definition of a mnemonic device. It is a technique a person can use to help them remember a long list of items or events, a memory aid. The oldest mnemonic device comes from Ancient Greece called the Method of Loci. The user is told to imagine a familiar place, usually their home. The user then, in their mind, fills the various rooms with the items they are trying to remember, associating the word to the location. This, while not intentionally, is how Benji views his life. 

The first key to understanding this section is to know that in his earlier years Benji is not allowed off the Compson estate. This can be assumed from the scene where Benji escapes. (TSATF p52) “How did he get out, father said. Did you leave the gate unlatched when you came in, Jason” This being said, Benji is very familiar with the Compson estate, and all of his memories are tied to locations there. Every cut off in his memory is strung together by another memory happening in the same location. This allows us to tie each point on the timeline to a location and collect several pieces of information. 

We start off with event #1 which starts in a golf course; this is every scene Luster is in. Since the golf course in the opining passage sparks a memory, we can infer it was once part of the Compson estate, and no longer is because it was sold off when the family was in financial destress. (TSATF p4) “Luster said. ‘You snagged on that nail again. Can’t you never crawl through here without snagging on that nail.”

The very next sentence (TSATF p4) “Caddy uncaught me and we crawled through” takes us to the first flashback of what we’ll denote event #2, Christmas day, as derived from (TSATF p4) “you don’t want your hands froze on Christmas, do you”. This is connected to the main arch through the fence which is in both timelines. This is also the day Caddy and Benji deliver the letter to Mrs Patterson. (TSATF p12) “You don’t want your hands froze on Christmas do you” and (TSATF p13) “She took the letter out of her pocket and put it in mine. ‘It’s a Christmas present.’”

The second flashback occurs at the fence as well. Event #3 is Benji waiting for Caddy at the gate a few days before Christmas, as seen in Caddy saying “Christmas is the day after tomorrow.” (TSAF page7) 

The fence is again mentioned the day Benji escapes and chases the girls as previously stated. 

As Luster and Benji in the main arch pass the carriage house, (TSAF p9) “we passed the carriage house”, flashback to event #4 occurs, the day TP takes Benji and his mother for a carriage ride. (TSAF p9) “‘Git in, now and set still until your maw come.’ Dilsey said. She shoved me into the carriage. T.P. held the reins”. We now see the present time line is Luster and Benji walking down memory lane, with the excuse of finding a quarter, as Benji has flashbacks of every place they pass. 

Occassionally, a slightly more complicated tactic happens, where a flashback is linked by the location in another flashback. Since these do not connect to the present at all, which is the easiest timeline to distinguish as it is the only one with Luster, it is sometimes difficult to see that these are two separate flashbacks. This is the case when event #5 occurs, Benji delivering a letter to Mrs. Patterson alone. This is triggered by remembering Mrs. Pattersons house when recalling event #2. These events are almost indistinguishable except for a few small clues. “‘You idiot’, Mrs. Patterson said, I told him never to send you alone again.” (TSATF p13) Beni is delivering a letter but unlike in event #2, he is without Caddy.

The next event #6 is covered the most, other than the present timeline. The day their grandmother dies. The location most associated with this is the tree Caddy climbs, but is introduced with the children playing in the branch, which Benji recalls when passing the branch in the present. (TSATF p17) “I hushed and got in the water and Roskus came and said to come to supper”. 

Event #7 is triggered by the barn, where T.P. and Benji got drunk at Caddy’s wedding and Quentin fought T.P. (TSATF p20) “The cows came jumping out of the barn.” “Quentin kicked T.P. again.” 

The next crucial location is the swing. In the present timeline “Miss Quentin and her beau (are)in the swing” (TSAF p46) which triggers a flashback to Caddy in the swing who wanted to “stay here and talk to Charlie a while”. (TSAF p47)

Locational memory allows us a vivid picture of the Compson manner and helps us interpret all the memories that fill the rooms, poetically strung together like a mental trail of bread crumbs as we follow Benji along his stroll in the present.

“symmetrical above the flesh”

At the end of Quentin’s section of The Sound and the Fury is a flashback to the time when Quentin confessed to his father that he committed incest with his sister. After some back and forth his father finally says:

you are not lying now either but you are still blind to what is in yourself to that part of general truth the sequence of natural events and their causes which shadows every mans brow even benjys you are not thinking of finitude you are contemplating an apotheosis in which a temporary state of mind will become symmetrical above the flesh and aware both of itself and of the flesh it will not quite discard you will not even be dead (242)

What leaps out most from this passage is this use of “apotheosis.” An apotheosis can be understood as the highest exaltation imaginable, to the status of the divine, but this passage includes its own definition: “you are not thinking of finitude,” says Mr. Jason, “you are contemplating an apotheosis,” that is, the inverse, the infinite, that space which exceeds any comprehension and so overwhelms the person with meaning. And, what’s more, this apotheosis is in reference to incest—only not necessarily incest as such but as it sits in Quentin’s head, within a web of signifiers like purity and impurity, masculinity and femininity, father and mother, brother and sister. Apotheosized, these concepts and ideas debilitate Quentin, possess him. Moreover, they find only the slimmest cohesion of meaning in the figure of Caddy, his sister, and not to the benefit of either of them. Quentin invests in Caddy a significance that totally exceeds her as an individual, a significance that cannot be reciprocated by any human being. And that’s exactly what his father is warning him of in this passage.

Caddy, however, isn’t the only one invested with the significance of an apotheosis by Quentin. The word appears first in an earlier part of his section. Leaving the kids looking at the trout to their business, Quentin wanders away and thinks:

I could hear my watch and the train dying away, as though it were running through another month or another summer somewhere, rushing away under the poised gull and all things rushing. Except Gerald. He would be sort of grand too, pulling in lonely state across the noon, rowing himself right out of noon, up the long bright air like an apotheosis, mount into a drowsing infinity where only he and the gull, the one terrifically motionless, the other in a steady and measured pull and recover that partook of inertia itself, the world punily beneath their shadows on the sun. (149)

In this passage Gerald Bland appears as this baroque otherworldly figure, steering his boat in “a drowsing infinity.” He is situated over and against the world, in it but not of it. And for the moment it’s hard to understand why Gerald occupies this space in Quentin’s head, much less why he’s this cherub-like figure in the sky. That is, until the immediately following sentence: “Caddy that blackguard that blackguard Caddy.” This alludes, of course, to Dalton Ames; and so there is revealed a connection between Gerald and Dalton, both of which Quentin believes to possess a power he doesn’t—Dalton because he takes Caddy’s virginity, and Gerald because he is known as a kind of womanizer, or at least Quentin sees him as one. And that’s why it’s not an accident that, trapped in his memory of confronting Dalton, Quentin in reality confronts Gerald (225), because ultimately they represent the same thing, that apotheosized kind of masculinity which he sees beyond his reach because it’s acquired through losing his virginity, virginity, too, heightened to the status of apotheosis.

I don’t think it’s unreasonable to suggest that when Quentin uses the word apotheosis when thinking about Gerald, he’s thinking about his confession to his father as well, seeing as it’s the only other place in the entire book, or at least in Quentin’s section, where the word appears; and I think that only serves to further punctuate a conceit of Quentin’s that Gerald represents something that Dalton did as well. It’s this conceit, made “symmetrical above the flesh and aware both of itself and of the flesh,” that kills Quentin, that colors the world as inhospitable to him who must attain what is ultimately unattainable.

“falling down the hill”

A tangent: When he was ten years old, my father and another local boy stole a bottle of brown liquor from his father, and secreted themselves to a hill above the creek bed some yards behind his house. It was winter and they were not dressed for the cold. They passed the bottle back and forth, their extremities warming sip by sip, until their little minds began to go fuzzy and—having discovered the security provided to him by gravity to be more tenuous than he’d always assumed—my father found himself falling down the hill and into the creek. The other boy ran off to get help, though being all of ten years old and newly-drunk, it was some time before anyone came to rescue my father. He was lucky neither to drown nor freeze to death.

            I’m sure my father had a whole host of reasons for telling me this story—over and over, beginning when I was very small—but the reasons it kept intruding on me as I read the opening section of The Sound and the Fury (attributed to Benjy Compson) are twofold: I’ve come to understand this moment to be the central incident—trauma if you insist—in my father’s adolescence, a memory as lens through which he sees all that came before and would come after; the notion of falling—tumbling really—as both an apt physical description of drunkenness and an uncanny way to put into words the visceral sensation of loss.

            Carolyn Porter, in the section of her biography on Faulkner devoted to The Sound and the Fury, recounts that the author “once described his method as a novelist by saying ‘there’s always a moment in experience –a thought—an incident—that’s there. Then all I do is work up to that moment.’” (William Faulkner, p.46) As Cooper Marshall’s Yoknapedia entry on Caddy highlights, there is some consensus that the ‘moment’ in The Sound and the Fury—for Faulkner anyway—is Caddy in the pear tree, siblings and  servants below looking up at her soiled undergarments as she tries to discern exactly what type of gathering is going on inside. Porter, for her part, seems content to take Faulkner’s assertion of the moment’s centrality at face value, allowing that the author was so attached to the image that “until the end of his life, he clearly never tired of repeating the story of its composition.” (WF, p.51) While I cannot refute the ways in which the whole of the novel may turn on this foundational incident—I confess to only having read Benjy’s and Quentin’s sections!—it is not the passage on which I believe Benjy’s section to hinge.

            Instead I am drawn to what we come to realize is Caddy’s wedding night—“Caddy, with flowers in her hair and a long veil like shining wind” (TSAF, p.39)—when T.P. sneaks off to the cellar with Benjy in tow, and the two get drunk on some sort of carbonated alcohol, which T.P. insists, absurdly, on calling or pretending is “Sassprilluh” (TSAF, p.21). Quentin happens upon the two and begins to beat on T.P. for this trespass (if not for some other, more personal reasons … ). Benjy’s recollection of the incident is one of the few in his section where the “vivid but puzzling sensorium”, as Porter describes Faulkner’s approach to Benjy’s narrative, does the work for the reader, allowing us access to his physical sensations in the moment, rather than around it:

            I wasn’t crying, but I couldn’t stop. I wasn’t crying, but the ground wasn’t still, and then I was crying. The ground kept clopping up and the cows ran up the hill…the cows ran down the hill…then the barn wasn’t there and we had to wait until it came back. (TSAF, pp.20-21)

This is one of the earliest instances of Faulkner using the dizzying, kinetic narrative style of Benjy’s section to elucidate what Benjy is experiencing in the moment, without asking the reader to do the additional work of analysis where Benjy cannot (i.e. why does he cling so to Caddy’s arborous scent?). Benjy watches the cows go up and down the hill and we too feel dizzy. He feels the ground moving beneath him and he reels. The world spins, and as his recollections lurch forward, we spin too.

Porter describes the dual mechanisms of stasis/motion in the Benjy section as “…[moving] in jerks, [stalling] at certain sights and sounds, [resuming] speed in response to others.” (WF, p.42 ) The first such synaptic leap occurs in the early pages of the novel when the confluence in signifiers of being stuck on a fence and hearing the golfers cry ‘caddie’ proves to be too much for Benjy, drawing him out of the present back to his sister (“Caddy uncaught me and we crawled through” [TSAF, p.4]). The first narrative shift, underscored with active motion, and as such we are back to Caddy, who Porter describes as “missing”, but who one could argue, for Benjy, by 1928, is gone.

Whether missing or gone, Caddy’s pronounced absence is why Benjy’s whirling, drunken evening seems to me to be the moment around which his narrative curls: it’s the first moment we’re privy to, in which there is real threat of Caddy’s not returning through the gate, putting Benjy at risk of losing his ballast, of falling forever. Reading on from this moment – which is immediately followed by a section of more physical stillness, but narrative motion, recalling the lead-up to the infamous pear tree—we’re given a key to understand everything that comes before and after in terms of Benjy’s attachment to his sister, who, as Porter puts it, is his “only connection in or to the world”.

While Benjy’s section of the novel may serve as a cubist introduction to the Compson narrative on the whole, and while it may indeed be Caddy in the pear tree that haunts and tempts the siblings – and Faulkner—most, the gut-rush of elation and anguish Benjy describes as the world spins around him seems as potent a marker as any for what we understand to be his ultimate loss.