4. Joe Christmas’ Racial Two Way Street

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Despite Joe Christmas’ loneliness, the question of his identity and his zig-zagging paths through both whiteness and blackness, he clings onto identity markers which are perhaps unknowingly deeply important and integral to him. While his name is one of the two pieces that he determinately latches onto at a very young age, the other interesting piece is his racial identity. This in-betweenness of racial identity that envelopes Christmas fuels his idea of race which is essentially a two way street always to be kept separate so that he can justify his existence and use it to his advantage. 

Upon reading the way that Christmas traverses through towns, his rejection of both whiteness and blackness is apparent. This movement through space is evidently seen when he roams through Jefferson. He begins in the white section where he is a, “Phantom, a spirit, strayed out of its own world and lost” (LIA 114). Then he finds himself in Freedman Town where, “They seem to enclose him like bodiless voices murmuring talking laughing in a language not his” (LIA 114). His movement and refusal of any stagnancy in one place or the other is akin to his negation of both white and black spaces, on the other hand, the narrative description likening Christmas to a ‘phantom’ or as linguistically illiterate leads to the belief of white and black spaces rejecting him as well. Nonetheless, his negation of both racial spaces is interesting, because it connects to his liminal occupancy of both, his perceived (or perhaps unperceived) identity and is important when he uses either racial space to his advantage in various instances in the novel.

Carolyn Porter addresses Christmas’ negation of race and connects this to his identity when she writes, “…he has fully internalized the opposition between black and white, so that his identity is secured precisely by that opposition” (Porter 95). This racial opposition is comforting to Christmas because besides his last name, it gives him the only other sense of who he is. He knows who he is, by knowing who he is not: not fully white or fully black, but in-between. On the two way street of race, he is in the middle of the double yellow lines and is able to cross, or access both sides. In the beginning of the novel, he appears in Jefferson and obtains a job at the white planing mill, in the middle of the novel we learn how he, “…lived with negroes, shunning white people” (LIA 225). He blends into one place or another and never both at the same time, because the racial segregation is somewhat  important to him. 

We see how he exploits his racial identity when he sleeps with white prostitutes in various towns. Christmas, “…paid them when he had the money, and when he did not have it he bedded them anyway and then told them that he was a negro” (LIA 224). As he did with Bobbie, he reveals his biraciality as a way to get out of having to pay. The women’s rage and disgust is a confirmation of his identity. However, when he finds himself in a Northern town with a northern gal and tries the tactic, she dismisses his racial identity by looking at him, “…without particular interest” (LIA 225). This triggers Christmas and he violently beats her to the point where the policemen, “…thought that the woman was dead” (LIA 225). In this moment, not only is he not able to get away without paying, but he subconsciously reads the woman’s nonchalant dismissal of the racial aspects as her disregarding a fundamental piece of his identity. Porter also discusses this particular scene by stating, “Joe beats her almost to death. He cannot tolerate the possibility that the racial line might not matter, as in that case he has no identity at all” (Porter 95). In many ways Christmas’ idea of race is that of a dual nature and any disregard of it is an affront to his person because it negates his existence. His need for the binary opposition of black and white defines who he is and without it he truly believes that he’s nothing and no one.

A Crucifying Sawmill

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“Sawmill”

A machine or factory in which logs are sawed into lumber.

I was originally planning on writing this as a Yoknapedia post, but upon my review, the meat of what I had written ended up reading more in the form of a regular blog post. An observation of a motif that might play a more significant role towards the end of the novel and further connect the Faulkner universe of characters and stories. Perhaps I am wrong. I don’t know, it’s been a long week. So this entry is kinda the best of both worlds.

Especially upon reading The Sound And The Fury and As I Lay Dying, Faulkner peppers his stories with symbolic imagery to deepen the meaning of certain characters, places, or even things. The most common symbolism is that of Christianity, most notably how the religion is self-evidently and most deeply ingrained into the culture of the American South; the setting of his novels. So why not include it as a common theme or motif in the entire Yoknapatawpha universe? From the character named Christmas to the motifs of resurrection, A Light in August is also no stranger to Faulkner’s Christian metaphors and symbolism. The “sawmill,” which is mentioned a couple of times in the first few chapters represents the creation of a cross and the foreshadowing of some sort of crucifixion. As described in the definition above, a “sawmill” is primarily used to take logs of wood and turn them into appropriately sized lumber. This lumber could be used for the construction of practically anything. From wooden furniture to the creation of a guillotine or gallows, the sawmill can architecturally turn wood into something constructive or destructive. And what is more symbolically destructive than that of two lumber logs, forming a “t” shaped structure, bearing what Christians believe as the Prince of Peace, as he hangs, rots, and suffers for days in utter agony until he finally dies. And based on the stories from Christianity, this is but one of two major events that have used wood work to radically change the world; parallel to drastically changing the story in Faulkner’s fiction.

The first is that of the story of Noah of which he builds a large ark prior to God’s flood of the earth as He washes away the sinners of the world. In Faulkner’s lore, this representation could be found in As I Lay Dying, specifically when the Bundren family almost drown in a ferocious storm while trying to cross a river with the coffin of Addie Bundren. The second Christian story using wood work is that of which I just described. The story of Jesus of Nazareth and his crucifixion by the Romans after Judas’ betrayal. Now, I might be mistaken to only identify two stories of importance that use wood work, but I think it is safe to assume that Faulkner will 1.) not repeat the story of Noah in this novel and 2.) a character, or even several characters, within A Light in August will be crucified by one means or another. Maybe not in the literal sense of building an actual cross and nailing characters to it (even though that would be a shocking twist to the story). But perhaps through a betrayal of another character and the creation and bearing of their own individual crosses. Or even that of simply bearing a cross and carrying their own suffering either as their own personal responsibility or through painful punishment.

I link two citations in this post. The first citation links back to my own blog post from As I Lay Dying, discussing this idea of the parallel between the Bundren family crossing the river and the Christian story of Noah. The second citation lists an article I found that goes into further analysis (and into spoilers of A Light In August) of the idea of wood being a symbolic image that connects to Christianity, offering several examples from the novel where this is most prevalent. Since we as a class are not yet finished with the text, I did my best not to spoil the rest of the novel viewing this article. Also below is a quote that mentions the sawmill in context with the story. Again, a hybrid post of the blog and Yoknapedia.

“But perhaps he did not yet know himself that he was not going to commit the sin. The five of them were gathered quietly in the dusk about sagging doorway of a deserted sawmill shed where, waiting hidden 100 yards away, they had watched the negro girl entering look back once and then vanish.” (ALIA 156)

Borrero-Garcia, Nikolas. An Adventurous Death. Faulkner Hunter 389, CUNY Academic Commons, 1 October 2020, faulknerhunter.commons.gc.cuny.edu/2020/10/01/an-adventurous-death.

Frye, Allen. Faulkner’s Distorted Crucifix: Wood Imagery in Light in August, Southeast Missouri State University, semo.edu/cfs/teaching/4881.html.

4. The Misplaced Confidant

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In chapter 3, Byron Bunch recounts the story he is told of Hightower’s history in Jefferson. He is completely aware of the infidelity of Hightower’s wife and how she died. Considering this, it is odd that of all people he should choose to talk to about Lena Grove and his increasing feelings for her, he chose Hightower. With the stigma associated with cuckholds, and Lena’s search for the father of her unborn child being mildly obstructed by Byron, Hightower would be the least likely to sympathize with him. This can be seen when Byron tells Hightower about how he convinced Lena to wait with him at the mill instead of searching for Brown where the Burden house was burning. Hightower’s response is telling:

“’You did what you could. All that any stranger would be expected to do. Unless…’ His voice ceases also. Then it dies away on that inflection… And opposite Byron, Hightower does not yet think love. He remembers only that Byron is still young and has led a life of celibacy and hard labor, and that by Byron’s telling the woman whom he has never seen possesses some disturbing quality at least, even though Byron still believes that it is only pity. So he watches Byron now with a certain narrowness neither cold nor warm” (LIA 82).

There is a buildup happening here. Hightower assumes that Byron is unaware of his feelings toward Lena, but still describes Bryon’s dealings with her as disturbing. Hightower then begins to listen to the story with this in mind. After Byron tells how he decided to have Lena stay at the same boarding house as him, Hightower becomes increasingly suspicious:

“And now there begins to come into Hightower’s puzzled expression a quality of shrinking and foreboding as Byron talks quietly, telling about how he decided after they reaches the square to take Lena on to Mrs. Beard’s” (LIA 82-83).

While Byron may not be aware of his feelings for Lena as Hightower assumes, it is very odd that Byron wouldn’t consider to whom he is speaking to about bringing a woman who is pregnant with another man’s child to live close to him. Especially considering how similar assumptions of sexual relationships were presumed by the town about Hightower and his African American servants. Even more so in the case of the African American baby he delivered that died and the town had assumed that it was his child (LIA 74). Even if Byron did not realize he was in love with Lena yet, surely, he is aware of the negativity associated with taking care of a single pregnant woman whose child is not his and how Hightower’s bitter history would not make him the most sympathetic listener. One has to wonder what Byron was thinking in confessing to Hightower.

In my opinion, there are two options. Either Byron’s isolation from the town has caused him to lack the social skills to understand that he is hitting a sore spot by confessing this issue to Hightower. Or he is fully aware and even expects Hightower to give him biased feedback. The second option would make sense because Byron is a religious man and is described as being part of a church choir (LIA 48). Perhaps Byron believes that having someone who is both a priest and who has a bitter history with infidelity might dissuade him from what he might view as sin. That being getting involved with a woman who has a connection with another man. This is the more likely case, and if so, then Byron certainly is pushing his limits which shows something about his character. It shows that it is not a priority for Byron to maintain his personal relationships. His motivation is purely that of internal introspection without regard for outside influences. His isolation and working on Saturdays (LIA 47) is further evidence of this.  

the Unalone and Unknown

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In what can only be described as a very 2013 article for The Atlantic, then-staff writer Michelle Willens, nominally writing about “chauvinist king of the stage, David Mamet,” explores the notion of whether or not male writers can pen female characters with any finesse, depth or dimension. Willens sort of punts on coming down on the any particular side, advocating for the absolutely necessary increase gender parity in the authorial space and then quoting the literary critic Sarah Seltzer, who says, “the attempt at understanding, empathy, and inhabiting the soul of someone whose life experience is not ours, helps us grow as writers, and people too.” Willens’ question is one I have considered often over the past half-decade as I’ve reexamined some of my favorite novels – I laughed again, sadly, in re-reading her article, at the line “Where are the vivid, realistic and rounded portrayals of women in Roth, Bellow, Updike?” – and it has been at the forefront of my mind as we’ve read Faulkner’s work this semester. One need only google “Faulkner and Women” to see that there is a veritable buffet of criticism on the subject, the intersection of Yoknapatawpha scholarship and Academic Feminism being an apparently robust crossing. Our pal Bill may not have a ‘woman problem’ on the magnitude of say Mamet or Mailer, but neither would his novels – the three we’ve read anyway – pass the Bechdel Test. Many of female characters in Faulkner’s work are peripheral at best, appended with harsh physical descriptors, and played as a sort of two-dimensional character of either neurosis (Caroline Compson’s affliction in TSAF), histrionic piety (Cora Tull in AILD), judgement (Martha, described as a “gray woman with a cold, harsh, irascible face” in LIA), or, most often, gossip (Cora Tull again, among many, many others). Addie, As I Lay Dying’s titular matriarch, is one of the few exceptions, but in many ways her narrative functions as a foil to those of her predominantly male kin, and it would be a stretch to call Faulkner’s time in her head a ‘sympathetic portrait’. And yet, in reading Light in August, which represents Faulkner’s most direct attempt to plumb deeper into the experience of racism in the south, and in to central non-white characters, I was struck most not by the psychological portrait of Joe Christmas, but by the familiar character whose narrative bookends the novel, one of Faulkner’s most consistent motifs: a young woman, pregnant and unwed.

What are we to make of the persistence of this archetype in Faulkner’s work? And by taking up their narrative mantle, does the author do this trio (Caddie, Dewey Dell, Lena) any more justice, provide a more dimensional study, than his other female characters? It’s worth pondering. On the one hand one could argue it’s a mark against Faulkner that he lacks the imagination to saddle these young women with any other problem than this pending “unaloneness”, but taken side by side the differences between them provide a way to read Faulkner’s attempts to “inhabit the soul.” In fact, if you probe the difference between the girls, and read through a lens of class dialectic, their parallel plight could be read as a polemic on the limited means available to each. It’s interesting, too, to track across the three novels Faulkner’s growing comfort at spending time in the narrative space of these women. Caddie Compson is in many ways the most self-aware and empowered of the three (the highest borne and educated, as well) and yet we are deprived entirely of her narrative within TSAF. This may well be by design – that profound lack doing more to illuminate the insufficiencies of the narratives of her brothers – but it could also be that Faulkner was not yet ready to attempt such understanding or to inhabit so complex a character, one he himself professed to hold strong emotions toward. By that rubric, Dewey Dell represents baby-steps (a horrible pun!) in the right direction. She has a less sure grasp than Caddie on what little agency she possesses — indeed, she is heartbreakingly resigned, even as she knows she’s being abused, in the last third of the novel – but she is nearly as self-aware. The time we spend inside of her narrative is marked by a distinct mixture of her mother’s anger as the pronounced failures of the men around her, and her brother Darl’s near-spiritual dreaminess. Her narrative holds secrets and any attendant shallowness reads as a specific character trait and not just a lazy signifier of her sex. It’s worth noting here that the adjectives Faulkner uses to these young women (I mean her name is DEWEY Dell) are often “bright” and “warm”, in laughable contrast to his other female sketches of matronly utility. Which brings us to Lena Grove – described no less than 1,500 times as “serene”, as well as “calm”, “warm” and “detached without being bemused” – who in class and disposition falls somewhere between Dewey Dell and Caddie.

Lena’s narrative is defined largely by her naivete and childlike sense of wonder – another knock on Faulkner’s limited imagination here could be his insistent fetishization of a Madonna-like innocence, even in those in possession of carnal knowledge – but is also charmingly idiosyncratic. From the opening pages as she muses on her distance from Doane’s Mill to her yen for the sardines, there is a alluring peculiarity to Lena, even as she appears foolish in her naked class aspirations, or hopeless in her search for Burch, that feel lived in, wholly hers. I was astonished by the many moments in her narrative that held echoes of the future: she asks her father to stop the wagon outside of town and let her walk unaccompanied in the belief that “the people who saw her and who she passed on foot would believe that she lived in the town too,” just as Greta Gerwig’s Lady Bird asks her father to let her walk the final blocks to the private school she attends on scholarship; the window in her lean-to that she sneaks in and out of recalls Juliet as much as it presages Lux Lisbon in The Virgin Suicides (…both written by men, it may be worth noting; Shakespeare gets a pass from most critics as some of his most enduring characters are singular females–Team Rosalind forever!!!–though Eugenidies falls under fire from Willens for The Marriage Plot). All of which is to say, there’s a growing boldness in Faulkner’s work as he grows more comfortable inhabiting these female characters – even if it’s only the young objects of desire to whom he affords this designation. It’s worth noting that though it may not have the immediate formal daring of TSAF and AILD, Light in August is the most structurally assured of the three and is crucially bookended with Lena’s narrative.

Carolyn Porter, in her biography of Faulkner, points to Light in August as marking Faulkner’s “move from a single, nuclear family as the focalizing subject of the story to an array of families, both present and past, set within a densely textured culture,” and both she and Avak Hasratian use the phrase “Human Community” to define the larger preoccupation that overtakes his career in its later stages. It says something, then, that our entrée into this new phase in his novels – engaging with broader mechanisms to interrogate the tarnished Soul of the American South, the twinned violence of Masculinity and Misogyny, and our central racial trauma – is not a male proxy for Faulkner but is the solitary young woman at a literal crossroads. I’m not sure how much weight to afford it – like Willens I shall punt! – but there’s something admirable in Faulkner’s naked attempts to, as Michael Gorra puts it in The Saddest Words “[become] better than he was…when writing fiction,” by “[thinking] his way into other people”. It’s fascinating to mark the progress and watch the wheels turn.

Falkner’s women reinforce patriarchal femininity

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In Light In August we’re introduced initially to Lena Grove, a pregnant woman walking her way to a man who abandoned her. While Lena literally relies on the kindness of strangers those strangers seem primarily to be men. Armstid, for example, give Lena a ride and a place to sleep for the night however his wife, who did not oppose to her staying there, is incredibly dissmissive of Lena, essentially paying her to leave in the form of giving her the egg money. While giving Lena money is a kind act Armstid’s wife does not do it out of a sense of true compassion, it is a pitiable act to her. This is not the only passive aggressive act, Mrs. Armstid also makes breakfast for Lena, as early as she can, but does not sit with her to eat it or even see her off. She is in this scene attempting to run Lena off in a societally acceptable way. Lena is a wronged and yet not loved person to her for Lena had some agency in ‘getting herself pregnant’. To Mrs. Armstid Lena has violated the rules of femininity by both getting pregnant out of wedlock and by walking away from her family toward the man that abandoned her. This is not the way a woman should be according to the society Faulkner describes. Lena is at once pitied by the men for being wronged and hated by the women for doing some of the ‘wronging.’ Mrs. Armstid has internalized the patriarchal ideas of femininity to the point that she, not her husband, has become an enforcer of what it is to be a proper woman in society. Armstid reminisces on this a bit, on page 14 thinking “But thats the woman of it. Her own self one of the first ones to cut the ground from under a sister woman… she don’t care nothing about womenfolks.” Armstid thinks that Lena is the one who has betrayed femininity, a sentiment his wife shares in her actions and interrogations of Lena. They are members of ‘proper’ gendered society and Lena is an unfortunate outlier.

Mrs. Armstid is not alone in this, the women of the church react the same way to Hightowers wife when she violates their code of what it is to be a pastors wife. Their initial reactions to both Hightower and his wife are suspicious however she is the initial target of their gossip and ill will. When she does not show up to church they gossip, when she is spotted in Memphis they gossip, when she evetually comes back they gossip. Any action that she takes is met with the chagrin of the women. They are the ones who leave the church after Mrs. Hightower is killed in the hotel, they are the ones who come over unannounced to see and observe and gather intelligence about the Hightower’s lives to spread around or over exagerate in retellings. They are the enforcers of what is proper patriarchal society. So, as Armstid puts it, they “cut the ground out from under a sister woman.”

medium-length entry for Yoknapedia guide (due 10/22)

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You have your second entry in our encyclopedic guide to Faulkner’s Yoknapatawpha Co. next week. Note: since a lot of medium-length entries already exist for TSAF and AILD, you are free to substitute either three short entries or one normal blog post (on any topic you like). Here are some useful materials and guidelines:

  • the instructions for how to write the guide are here: scroll down to the “medium” section and be sure to read some of the examples I’ve linked to there from past students.
  • be sure to check the list of entries to shop for ideas and make sure you don’t duplicate someone else’s work. Since I’ve recently reconstructed the site, you should also check the list of entries on the site itself to make sure I haven’t missed something.
  • there are some good research aids on this links page.
  • when you’re finished writing, submit your copy via this Google Form (also on the syllabus). I’ll post it so you don’t have to sign on to yet another platform.
  • don’t forget to include images or other multimedia when appropriate!

Midterm exam (due Wednesday at 5pm)

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As discussed, here is the template document that you’ll use to create your own exam document, write your exam, and share with me:

Register – Dropbox

Download Dropbox for free. Join more than 500 million users and 400,000 teams using Dropbox Business who already love Dropbox’s file backup, sync, and sharing solution.

Don’t sleep on the directions! The step-by-step should be clear, but you have to follow the steps carefully.

Feel free to reach out with questions. If the tech side is really problematic, you can email me your answers in a pinch. But please try to follow the steps.

Shifts in time in AILD

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In his article Time in Literature J. Hillis Miller discusses, how works of literature present the human experience of a specific lived time, and how these narratives use words to express the subjective experience of lived time. These narratives of course are numerous and varied as they reflect the diverse lived experiences in literature. Miller discusses several literary works including As I Lay Dying by William Faulkner. In this novel, Miller observes that the dialogue of almost all the characters is composed of “brief segments of internal monologue ascribed to one or another”. (Miller 93) “Human temporality, this mode of narration suggests, consists of blocks of language that register what is ‘out there’ from different temporal and spatial point. These articulations always exist in the present, even when consciousness/language is devoted to the act of remembering, even, as is sometimes the case of this novel, when they are enacted in the past rather than present tense and out of chronological order. Flashbacks and retracing of particular events from different perspectives produce a jagged, cubist rendering that suggests that any human event consists of the linguistic perspectives on it.” ( Miller 93) One example of this movement in time and in relation to space in the text can be seen when Jewel describes Cash’s actions and his ostensibly calloused attitude toward their mother’s imminent death. Jewel’s discontent can be clearly perceived when he says; “It’s because he stays out there, right under the window, hammering and sawing on that goddam box. Where she’s got to see him. ….See what a good one I am making for you. I told him to go somewhere else. I said Good God do you want to see her in it. It’s like when he was a little boy and she says if she had some fertilizer she would try to raise some flowers and he taken the bread pan and brought it back from the barn full of dung” ( AILD 14) As Miller mentions in his essay, Jewel’s language describes the present, his irritation with Cash’s insistence on making a coffin for his not so dead mother. Jewel’s language indicates his mother’s physical position in relation to him, and his brother. She cannot quite literally escape the saw dust, and this serves to highlight how cruel Cash’s present demeanor is, that he is determined to make this coffin so close to her body. Jewel also uses his present language to move back in time, and this flashback helps further reveal Cash’s personality. Cash proves to be quite literally minded; which can be seen when he returns with a bread pan full of dung after his mother requests fertilizer. This incident helps us understand Cash’s excessive practicality; his mother is dying, he has wood and a saw, so he is literally making her a coffin. The flashbacks or shifts in times and perspectives, help us create and re-create both the present and the past, which in turn informs our understanding of these narratives and their characters.

Addie’s rejection of societal conventions

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Addie rejects many of the dominating societal conventions of her time, making her character complex. Addie has very little regard for the opinions, or expectations, others have of her. We see evidence of this, in Addie’s critique of Cora’s clearly judgmental attitude towards her. Cora says that Addie “had never been religious”. (AILD 166) Unlike Cora, Addie doesn’t care for the outward, ostensible, and apparent piety or Godliness, which seems to motivate some in her society. Addie cannot subscribe to a life of religious hypocrisy, a life of religious practices and traditions, in an effort to please others. Nor does Addie claim to accept the life of a martyr, constantly chastising herself for being an imperfect human, the way Cora does. Addie is aware of what it means to be human, she says; “My daily life is expiation of my sin”. (AILD 167) Addie isn’t in denial of human tendency, but she also believes in her own morality; her own set of ethics. Addie doesn’t care about conforming to the prescribed, and expected rules of societal conventions, specifically the ones that promote the pious southern religious woman. Addie also rejects the idealization of motherhood, and the seemingly wonderful joys associated with it. Addie doesn’t find joy in motherhood, and she’s not willing to give people the impression that it has offered her any personal fulfillment. She says; “Then I found that I had Darl. At first I would not believe it. Then I believed that I would kill Anse. It was as though he had tricked me, hidden within a word like within a paper screen and struck me in the back through it.” (AILD 172) Addie deeply resents becoming a mother to Darl, because she believes that she was deceived by Anse. This doesn’t sound like someone who is satisfied in her role as a mother, no matter how much Cora or others insist on her children being gifts from God. It’s clear Addie isn’t concerned with appearing to be happy in her role as mother, or in adhering to traditional religious conventions. Addie sees through the facade of the established societal conventions, the ostensible happiness or fulfillment of motherhood, and the “blessings” a life of piety can offer. It is evident that Addie has decided to see things for what they are, not some illusion others have created, and no one, not Cora, or even Whitfield with his reverential sermons can convince her otherwise.

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