Greg Forter discusses trauma at great length in  “Freud, Faulkner, Caruth: Trauma and the Politics of Literary Form” particularly in regards to traumatic effects that stem from indirect relationships to a specific traumatic event. Working from Caruth, Forter explores “trauma’s capacity to be represented or ‘known’ (by those who haven’t directly experienced it)” (262) in relation to Faulkner’s Absalom, Absalom!. Working through Forter’s analysis, I am interested in the role trauma plays in a particular moment in Absalom, Absalom! where certain characters engage with each other in an seemingly impossible way that transcends time and space. Near the end of Faulkner’s novel, we see the convergence of two sets of young men in a mystic, specific way that seems to be engendered through their parallel characteristics and a kind of frenzied blurring of knowing. Readers have been following the conversational storytelling between Quentin and Shreve for much of the novel, their story’s main characters being Charles and Henry, among others. Around the time of the metaphysical convergence, there is a shift in the storyteller’s discussion, from Quentin speaking to Shreve, in a way that elucidates the blurry way in which they had begun to be wrapped up in the story itself, and / or in their retelling of it: “Shreve ceased. That is, for all the two of them, Shreve and Quentin, knew he had stopped, since for all the two of them knew he had never begun, since it did not matter (and possibly neither of them conscious of the distinction) which one had been doing the talking” (267). We can tell from this passage that the clearness of their conversation is moving into a more fluid, shape-shifting format in their engagement. The convergence that transcends time and space in a physical-seeming way occurs shortly after Shreve takes the stage in the conversation (however shifty this stage may be): Faulkner writes, “So that now it was not two but four of them riding the two horses through the dark over the frozen December ruts of that Christmas eve: four of them and then just two — Charles-Shreve and Quentin-Henry” (267). Pairing the young men up for us, based on their similarities in relation to one another, Faulkner takes a near metaphysical turn where the frame story, of Quentin and Shreve, converges with the narrative retelling of the additional story, of Charles and Henry. There is this repetitive picture being painted of the four men, Quentin, Shreve, Charles, and Henry, together during this time. Faulkner writes, “Four of them there, in that room in New Orleans in 1860, just as in a sense there were four of them here in this tomblike room in Massachusetts in 1910” (268) and again, “– four of them who sat in that drawing room of baroque and fusty magnificence which Shreve had invented and which was probably true enough…” (268). In these passages, there is vivid descriptions regarding the physical surroundings of the men, signifying the physicality in which this newfound party of four inhabits. In the earlier passage, there is a note of equality in this double-narrative-crossing where we know that the four not only inhabit New Orleans, but also Massachusetts, which shows that both locations are equally inhabitable by this mysterious foursome. Forter writes on convergences of worlds in the illustration of pools which ripple into one another: “Even more, the passage insists that the trauma of historical events affects those who do not live through them with the same force as those who do… The “ripples” produced by any event radiate outward in concentric ringlets, reverberating beyond their initial occurrence to affect those who were neither geographically nor temporally present when the stone first disturbed the waters of consciousness” (277). He notes that it is not necessary for a person to be geographically present for a rippling of connectivity to affect a person of a different time, and I believe that the double-narrative-crossing that occurs is a physical, perhaps playfully literal manifestation of this type of rippling effect that transcends time.

Race and blood seem to be a reoccurring theme in all of Faulkner’s works we have read, as it was in the south. For the most part all the racial tension has been between black and white, but in Go Down Moses we are given a third group of people- the Native Americans. In “Old People” we are introduced to the character Sam Fathers. Sam is the son of Indian Chief Ikkemotubbe of the Chickasaw tribe and a quadroon slave from New Orleans. Though Sam is the son of a chief he is not raised in the Native American Community. His father married off Sam’s mom to another slave and sold all three of them to McCaslin, leaving the part white-part black-part Chickasaw Sam to be raised among the slaves. Even though his father did not raise him he still holds on to his Native American identity, being noticeably different from the other blacks and having a deep connection to nature.

Sam’s mixed race identity places him in a “cage he has been in all his life” (161). This cage is not that of his bondage as a slave, but of his mixed identity and tainted blood:

“He was the direct son not only by a warrior but of a chief. Then he grew up and began to learn things, and all of a sudden one day he found out that he had been betrayed the blood of the warriors and chiefs had been betrayed. Not by his father…He probably never held it against old Doom for selling him and his mother into slavery, because he probably believed the damage was already done before then and it was the same warriors’ and chiefs’ blood in him and Doom both that was betrayed through the black blood which his mother gave him. Not betrayed by the black blood and not willfully betrayed by his mother, but betrayed by her all the same, who had bequeathed him not only the blood of slaves but even a little of the very blood which had enslaved it; himself his own battleground, the scene of his own vanquishment and the mausoleum of his defeat” (162)

Blood is a significant feature in this passage. Sam Fathers is the direct child of both royalty and a slave, placing him not only in 2-3 different races but also social classes. With the laws in the south at the time it only takes a single drop of black blood to be considered black. Though Sam’s father sold him and his mother it is his mother that he has to blame. With Sam’s mother being part black and part white she has the tainted blood of what is presumably a black slave and a white master, with the black blood in her ruining the white. This same blood rests in Sam, who’s understanding of his fathers decision to sell him and his mother, because what else was he supposed to do? With all this tainted blood inside him he is always at war with himself, even if we do not get to hear it from him.

This battle within ones self over racial identity is something we have seen before, specifically in Joe Christmas in Light in August. Christmas battled over his racial identity and his “black blood” throughout the novel. The difference between him and Sam is that Christmas didn’t know what his racial makeup actually was, which added to his internal struggles. Both these men abandoned by a parent had to find a way to live with the cage of tainted blood they were doomed to live in, though in Christmas’s case there was no escaping it.

[Blog 6]

In the final scene of AA! when Quentin recounts when Henry Supten is found in the Supten’s Hundred and explains to Shreve how Clytie burns the house down with her and Henry inside and Jim Bond running away.

In this final chapter while Quentin is telling the story to Shreve Faulkner uses “cold” language. He describes how cold the room is with “icelike bedclothing.” Shreve opens up the window with the snow’s “unearthly glow” visible. Shreve comments on Quentin’s uncomfortableness in the room, in the North. As Quentin tells the story to Shreve he continues to be plagued by the cold in the room, getting chills.

Quentin’s story recounts when Henry Supten is found in the Supten’s Hundred and explains to Shreve how Clytie burns the house down with her and Henry inside and Jim Bond running away.

Quentin’s story clearly contrasts Shreve’s earlier statement, “…to always be reminding us to never forget. What is it? something you live and breathe in like air? a kind of vacuum filled with wraithlike and indomitable anger and pride and glory at and in happenings that occurred and ceased fifty years ago?” (289)

Quentin’s story, the demise of Supten, and his remaining heir to the Supten dynasty a mixed race oaf running into the forest. It’s clear that Quentin’s story does not mimic the one of pride and glory and is the type of story that showcases the narrative of “defeated grandfathers and freed slaves” (289). Quentin’s tale of Supten and the narrative of the fall of the Old South makes Quentin physically uncomfortable in his room with Shreve and he cannot come to terms with his realization about his feelings about the South. Quentin’s “Story of the South” is one of downfall rather than pride and glory.

At the end of the novel, Shreve asks Quentin “why do you hate the South?” (303) Quentin replies panicked denying that he doesn’t. Quentin becomes uncomfortable with denying the South and potentially accepting a new place as his “home” leaves Quentin in an uncomfortable place. We can wee at the end that Quentin’s identity is wrapped in the South, but he seems to deny that identity through the story he tells.

The text “Pantaloon in Black” provides two distinct and opposing interpretations of the main character’s actions following his wife’s death.  The first interpretation, which is presented in the first chapter, is fostered by Rider’s words and glimpses of his state of mind.  The second, which dominates the second chapter, is the deputy’s personal interpretation of Rider’s actions.

The first chapter encourages the reader to interpret Rider’s actions in light of his concern and connection to his wife.  The text’s exploration of Rider’s internality reveals the impact that his wife’s loss had on him.  Mannie means nearly everything to his home life so that her loss also means the loss of his home.  Upon returning to the house, he is presented with a feeling of vacancy.  The narrator reports, “when he put his hand on the gate it seemed to him suddenly that there was nothing beyond it.  The house had never been his anyway, but now even the new planks and sills and shingles, the hearth and stove and bed, were all a part of the memory of somebody else…” (GDM 132-133).  “The hearth and stove and bed” are all tangible objects which signal the intangible richness of family life.  For Rider, they symbolize Mannie’s presence, which makes it especially difficult for him to enter the home and encounter these objects following her death.  When Rider mentions that these things are “all a part of the memory of somebody else,” he suggests that the post-Mannie version of himself is not the same person as the Rider who lived with Mannie.  The hearth pertains to the Rider who lived with Mannie.  It appears that that Rider dies out with the fading embers in the hearth.  The text includes a striking image of the post-Mannie Rider watching as his and Mannie’s fire, that which was supposed “to have lasted to the end of them,” goes out (GDM 133).  The image of Rider “himself standing there while the last of light died about the strong and indomitable beating of his heart and the deep steady arch and collapse of his chest” indicates the profound meaning that the fire and, Mannie more generally, brings to Rider and his home.  By likening this fire to that of Lucas Beauchamp and Molly, which stayed lit throughout their decades-long life together, the text suggests that Rider’s loss was a loss of many potential years of married life.  Her passing signals the end of many things for Rider.  It is the death of his past and future married life, his home, and his prior existence.

Given Rider’s deep connection to his wife, it seems only appropriate that feelings of anguish to dominate his thoughts.  It is clear that he has an active internal life which he reveals when he claims “Hit look lack Ah just cant quit thinking” (GDM 152).  The tragedy of his wife’s passing has stuck profoundly at the basis of his existence and calls into question the reason for his continued existence.  Rider must now actively decide to participate in life and the basic functions—like breathing—that support life.  The narrator suggests that his work at the mill helps distract him from thinking about his this.  The text reads, “Then the trucks were rolling again.  Then he could stop needing to invent to himself reasons for his breathing…” (GDM 138).  In light of this, it also seems that Rider seeks out the gallon of alcohol and partakes in other behavior to take his mind off of his own anguished existence.

The text encourages the reader to interpret Rider’s physical actions in light of the glimpse into his thoughts and feelings that it provides.  It suggests that Rider does what he does out of a need to smother the anguish of Mannie’s loss.  On the contrary, the deputy, who is not privy to Rider’s mental state and who views blacks through a racist lens, formulates a completely different interpretation of Rider’s physical actions.  He recounts the events since Mannie’s burial while supplying an explanation of how Rider’s actions demonstrate his (and other blacks’) inhumanity.  He takes Rider’s behavior as evidence of his more general claim that “when it comes to the normal human feelings and sentiments of human beings, they [African Americans] might just as well be a damn herd of wild buffaloes” (GDM 147).  For the deputy, the main character’s actions signal a lack of respect and concern for his wife.  For instance, he understands Rider’s presence at the job the day after the funeral as senseless and disrespectful.  Interestingly, when one considers that the job offers to distract him from “needing to invent to himself reasons for his breathing” and takes him out of the home that so powerfully reminds him of Mannie, it becomes clear that it is because she dominates his thoughts that Rider goes to work.  In other words, the same actions that appear motivated by grief to the reader are interpreted by the deputy as evidence of Rider’s disregard for her.  The deputy’s prejudice, which he reveals when he begins his story with “Them damn niggers,” disposes him to read Rider’s behavior in a particular way (GDM 147).  Furthermore, given his wife’s indifferent responses to her husband’s story, one wonders how much the nature of their relationship influences how the deputy views that of others.