Quentin’s sense of nativism

Quentin’s treatment of his sister, Caddy, is symbolic of both white nativism and the notion of stereotypical Southern respectability. This is evident not only in his desire to either keep her pure or erase her and her perceived sins entirely, but also in Faulkner’s incest subplot between the two siblings. Quentin’s desire to marry her to “the same” speaks to his motive of keeping the blood pure, as it were, in more ways than one. He wants to keep Caddy pure both in the moralistic sense and in the sense that he does not want her marrying outside the family at all. He wants to control her to the point where she is legally under his thumb in perpetuity, and he wants to keep pure the blood of a family he still considers to be a proper, respectable example of Southern greatness. In “Whose America? Faulkner, Modernism, and National Identity”, John T. Matthews speaks to the type of white nativism that plagued the United States in the 1920s: “For nativists, American identity came to be understood as something one inherited by blood rather than acquired through citizenship” (Matthews 70). As in many European royal houses who sought to keep their lines pure through inbreeding, this solution could not sustain itself, nor could most changing societies sustain such symbols of social disparity. In fact, Quentin views his family in much the same way as these great European houses: as a great line which must be sustained at any cost. However, much like these royal houses (particularly at the beginning of the 20th-century and following World War I), the Compson family’s years as the pinnacle of Southern society are decidedly behind them.

Quentin sees Caddy (and women in general) as commodities to be protected either because they cannot or will not protect themselves. They have the potential to carry on the genetic “pure” line, and, if left to their own devices, can easily sully that line. Quentin, like his father, believes that women have an instinctive ability to be drawn astray, and they must be watched and controlled in order to protect the family honor and legacy, as well as to protect them from themselves. He feels Caddy’s sexual liaisons as a harsh betrayal and bemoans the behavior of “bitches”. This obsession with keeping the family line pure is reminiscent of American attitudes toward immigration at the time. As Matthews points out, “American nativism was hostile to internal minorities on the basis of their foreign or un-American connections” (Matthews 70). He draws a parallel between Caddy’s love life and what America should be—which, in his opinion, is more like the South (respectable, white, insulated). Caddy’s marriage and sexual liaisons are not respectable and bring “foreign” blood into the Compson family. Caddy’s betrayal is therefore compounded by her introduction of “un-American connections” into the family.

Quentin is obsessed with time and his family in its “prime”. His constant focus on watches and how everything but the sound of the ticking fades away speaks to his awareness of the rapid movement of time; and his stepping on his watch (whether on purpose or by accident—and, therefore, either knowingly of subconsciously) speaks to his desperate resolve to ignore the passing of time, or to freeze it. This is also evidenced by the fact that he does not care what the clocks in the window of the repair shop actually say, only whether or not they are “right”. He is more interested in the world subscribing to his idea of right than he is subscribing to reality.

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).

“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.

“Every Man is the Arbiter of His Own Virtues”

I would like to zero in on a quote occurring twice within the stream of consciousness section appearing toward the end of Quentin’s narrative, “June Second, 1910,” in The Sound and the Fury. During an imagined conversation with his father in which Quentin falsely confesses to committing incest with his sister Caddy, Quentin’s father states that “every man is the arbiter of his own virtues” (176). Although the meaning of this statement (and Quentin’s section as a whole) is still not completely clear to me, the quote evokes for me the dueling nature of Quentin’s thoughts as he approaches his death (his own moral code and his love for his sister in opposition to social mores) and provides insight into societal attitudes of the time regarding women’s sexuality.

Quentin’s final internal monologue is bookended by the phrases “The three quarters began. The first note sounded, measured and tranquil, serenely peremptory, emptying the unhurried silence” and “The last note sounded. At last it stopped vibrating and the darkness was still again” (176; 178). These markers usher in and out the tumult of thoughts accompanying Quentin’s final preparations for his suicide and indicate the contrast between the outer world and his inner turmoil. Toward the beginning of this section appears the first instance of the statement at hand: “every man is the arbiter of his own virtues,” directly followed by “whether or not you consider it courageous is of more importance than the act itself than any act otherwise,” perhaps in reference to Quentin’s decision to commit suicide (176). Providing additional emphasis, Quentin’s father repeats the statement toward the end of the section: “every man is the arbiter of his own virtues but let no man prescribe for another mans wellbeing” (178). Quentin’s father appears to be advocating for individuals’ ascription of meaning to take precedence over the meanings delineated by society.

Although an aspirational statement, Quentin’s father’s assertion doesn’t otherwise ring true for me, since while it is true that societal values are simply constructions, the extent to which one can define one’s own virtues and have these definitions mean anything in society varies greatly dependent on one’s gender, race, etc. Such descriptive power appears to be reserved for men like Quentin and his father. Rather than being simply an abstract concept to puzzle over, this issue for Caddy is rooted in her lived experience. Although Caddy does indeed define and live by her own standards by freely expressing her sexuality, there is a point at which her autonomy ends: once she is “found out” by her husband when he realizes that she is pregnant, her personal standards move her beyond the boundaries of acceptable femininity of the time and she is punished severely through permanent separation from her daughter and home (as enforced by her own brother, Jason). Furthermore, although Caddy’s loss of her virginity and her subsequent promiscuity do help to precipitate the downfall of the Compson family, the person whom these events affect most harshly is Caddy herself, a fact that is shrouded within Quentin’s thoughts. Thus, Caddy certainly does not appear to be the arbiter of her own virtues.

However, Quentin himself is also unable to extract himself from the values that society thrusts upon him and Caddy. Based on descriptions of their relationship appearing throughout Quentin’s section, Quentin and Caddy appear to be quite close; they can perhaps even be seen as doubles in a sense, as made apparent within Quentin’s internal monologue when he describes them as fusing into one entity: “if people could only change one another forever that way merge like a flame swirling up for an instant then blown cleanly out along the cool eternal dark” (176). Quentin seems to view Caddy’s struggles as intertwined with his own and perhaps sees them as encapsulating the general clash of individuals against stringent societal norms. This thought of Quentin’s may also indicate, however, that despite their closeness, Quentin is unable to see Caddy fully: he seems to have trouble thinking of her as a whole person who is separate and distinct from himself. The fractured manner in which Quentin sees Caddy is reiterated for the reader through the fact that we are never granted access to Caddy’s own thoughts. Instead, we view them through other, male, characters’ eyes such as Quentin’s, and this lens through which Caddy’s and Quentin’s own experiences are filtered is that of society, a lens that Quentin cannot quite set aside. Quentin grapples with this complexity until almost the moment of his suicide.

Thomas Sutpen: A Man’s Man

Absalom, Absalom!, like Light in August before it, reflects a shift in Faulkner’s literary approach and subject matter from a focus on single families, as in The Sound and the Fury and As I Lay Dying, to larger, though fragmented, communities. Thomas Sutpen, the central figure in Absalom, Absalom!, stands as the patriarchal locus of the townspeople of Jefferson that is so captivated, mesmerized and repulsed, by him. All of the novel’s narrators give voice to the obsessive nature with which the entire town observes and judges Sutpen. Albeit for different reasons (i.e. Rosa’s personal resentment, Shreve’s quest for knowledge of the South), they are each compelled to outline his mysterious and complicated influence on themselves, their families, and the town of Jefferson at large. In this light, Sutpen’s presence may be seen for the patriarchal notions he upholds.

Quentin’s narration, in particular, reflects the complex reverence, founded by fear and lack of understanding, that Sutpen’s contemporaries held towards him. Quentin, like the citizens of Jefferson, Sutpen’s neighbors, see him in light of the influence he carved out and collected for himself from that “best virgin bottom land in the country” (AA 26). More specifically, he and they, both, see this influence in light of its patriarchal domination, as is reflected by Quentin’s ponderings on the essence of fatherhood in a conversation he has with Shreve: “Yes. Maybe we are both Father . . . Yes, we are both Father. Or maybe Father and I are both Shreve, maybe it took Father and me both to make Shreve or Shreve and me both to make Father or maybe Thomas Sutpen to make all of us,” (AA 210). In Quentin’s mind Sutpen is painted as an ultimate, capital “F”, Father figure, which harks back to Quentin’s own allusions to Sutpen, based on Rosa’s first descriptions of him, as embodying a Godlike essence: “Then in the long unamaze Quentin seemed to watch them . . . drag house and formal gardens violently out of the soundless Nothing and clap them down like cards upon a table beneath the up-palm immobile and pontific, creating the Sutpen’s Hundred, the Be Sutpen’s Hundred like the oldentime Be Light” (AA 4).

This latter association is particularly interesting, considering the perspective that created it (Quentin’s) versus the one that inspired its creation (Rosa’s). In other words, the question that begs to be answered is: “What meaning lies in the fact that Quentin likens Sutpen to God based on Rosa’s continuous and explicit reference to him as a ‘demon’ and ‘ogre’?” Firstly, I would point to the different social standing each character embodies. Rosa, who describes herself as “an orphan a woman and a pauper,” holds a much lower status in the social hierarchy of the time compared to Quentin (AA 12-13). Simply because of his maleness and the respectability, declining though it is, of the Compson name he bears, Quentin is able to neutralize Rosa’s acutely negative portrayal of Sutpen into one marked by first and foremost by awe, rather than disgust. Secondly, Quentin is the direct descendant, the grandson, of Sutpen’s first friend in Jefferson, General Compson. This highlights the patrilineal aspect of Quentin’s privilege that leads him to develop such a reverent conception of Sutpen.

Sutpen himself, too, reflects the novel’s patrilineal structure and focus. His ultimate goal in life, what motivates his every action, is revealed by the “design” he refers to in Chapter 7 (AA 212). This “design,” of course, is fundamentally entwined in patriarchy and patrilineality. As he supposedly explained to General Compson, “To accomplish it I should require money, a house, a plantation, slaves, a family—incidentally of course, a wife,” it becomes clear that Sutpen’s objective was about establishing a solid patriarchal footing in the place of Sutpen’s Hundred (AA 212). The money, the mansion, the slaves and plantation would serve to perpetuate power within the Sutpen lineage, or family. That Sutpen is concerned primarily with his theoretical male descendants, his patrilineage, is more than clear from his assessment of the role his theoretical wife will play into his scheme: necessary for biological reasons, but not symbolically integral to his plan, personally meaningful, or emotionally beneficial.

Analysis of Benjy’s Narration

Benjy, a thirty three year old man with the mental state of a three year old, does not have the ability to formulate his own thoughts or understand the significance of what he experiences. His life is dictated by scents, sounds, shapes, and cues from the present that leads a chain of displaced memories; all of which may present Benjy’s inability to discern the past and the present. Though Benjy may seem as an unreliable narrator due to his mental disability, in fact, from his mental disability it becomes clear the constant disarray of memory shifts is targeted by his sensitivity and awareness to the present. He does not have the ability to understand what he sees, which presents only a reliable and unbiased view of his family. The irony presented in his narration is his family views Benjy’s disability as the downfall of their family, on the other hand, the downfall of the family is sought upon their own incompetency.

Though his memories are discontinued and leaves much of his memories unclear, each memory brings misfortune upon the family. From the scene with Benjy’s mother wearing a veil carrying flowers into a carriage (9-10) emphasizing death, to Caddy’s threats of running away (19) signs of the family breaking apart, early signs of promiscuity from Caddy’s comfort of undressing in front of her brothers by the lake,  Caddy and Jason’s fight over the drawings (65), and to the mother’s illness all indicate signs of drastic change and the overall downfall of the family(74). Throughout each timeframe a new dilemma occurs amongst family members in which Benji seem’s to be at the fore point and cries as he witnesses the separation amongst each family member.

April 7, 1928 does not have much significance except it gives us a disarray of memories. From Benjy’s narration, Faulkner does not give us much insight into Quentin, Jason, and his father but it is clear how Caddy, Benjy’s mother, Roskus, and Dilsey affects Benjy’s life. Caddy and Dilsey act his true caretakers/mother while Benjy’s mother, Mrs. Compson, believes her son is deteriorating her family’s reputation and slowly isolating the family from other people (8).

The most significant character presented in Benjy’s narration is Caddy. Many if not all of Benjy’s memories have Caddy present, conscious of her physical appearance. Her undergarment as dirty,  his sister removing her clothes(18,74), Caddy and Charlie by the swings (47), and when he sleeps with her he notices she does not take her bathrobe off (44). Those all indicate physical awareness and perhaps physical attraction towards Caddy. The end of the chapter may indicate his mother dying from her illness and Caddy’s innocence taken from her as she develops into a women and into more of a motherly role. Perhaps Caddy’s promiscuity is the catalyst for her family’s destruction.