. Spinning .

A delightful, fast-paced ending to this story and once again I find myself loving Faulkner's style. Though I struggled through (thought it terribly plodding) the first quarter of the book that set up the environment and the characters, the base he laid down for us clearly had a purpose in that we become comfortable with the characters, already know how they interact, and then can more easily see them more intimately as they face the conflicts of Faulkner's tale.

Just as with his characters, Faulkner lays down a simple base situation and then creates the complications that keep one on edge. A stolen automobile turns into a trade-off for a horse that makes a race necessary to win back the car. The horse is known to balk at running ahead and then we find the horse has been stolen prior to being traded so there is that extra need to sneak around as more folk get involved. Faulkner gives us side stories too; the whorehouse with Miss Reba, and Miss Corrie who is inspired by Lucius not to ply her trade but find a decent way to make a living–which of course messes up Boon Hoggenbeck's plans and causes even more trouble with the southern lawman Butch.

But the characters, and the close look at their personal interactions and particularly the way black and white keep close yet at a distance to each other is the heart of the story. Ned is not what he seems, he is a clever man who knows the ways of blacks and whites both and knows how to fit in either world to suit himself without compromise. And Faulkner shows us the differences between the cultures and yet ends the story with the Boss and Colonel Lincomb and Mr. van Tosch, the horse's owner, wheeling and dealing on the final outcome of a race with the same sense of finagling that Ned applied.

There are themes that run through the story that hold it together beyond the racial issues and the friendships; Minnie's gold tooth that means so much to her that the boy Otis steals. The evil natures of Otis and Butch against the honesty of Lucius or Ned. The ability to change, or strive to improve by watching others and learning; this comes to Lucius, of course, as an eleven year-old boy who learns he can lie and steal and yet shows others how he keeps his promises, is loyal, and willing to defend the dignity of others, as he does with Miss Corrie. Boon Hoggenbeck gets himself into more trouble than ever simply by the boy's influence and example.

Faulkner has each character wanting something and shows how they will go about getting it; this is a major element of fiction and he has endowed each of the main characters with a desire, a means, and an ultimate decision to make and they all come out finding what they need at a price they were willing to pay.

Loved the story, loved the intricacy of the plots that Faulkner neatly brought together through introductions of new characters and conflicts. All I need to remember is that starting a Faulkner novel is the toughest part; enjoying and finishing it is easy.

Forgive the language that's considered politically incorrect as a racial slur now –it had a different, less evil meaning in the era of the story, simply meaning what 'black' or African American means today (except coming from the mouth of Butch Lovemaiden, the stereotypical Southern lawman, whose "boy," is no less demeaning)–but this explanation of Ned's as answer to the Colonel's question of behavior is priceless:

There's pride in that, and each man treats the other with respect though a difference in social status and culture is certainly accepted as a natural state of being. These families have crossed racial barriers in their bloodlines, and without hesitation acknowledge it without shame or concern, and yet the wall stands more because of social status than color, though color certainly marks the division as clearly as football jerseys at a game.

Faulkner wrote this novel, his last, in 1961–it was published in 1962, the year that he died at age 65. The story takes place in the present, that is, around the 60s when one considers that the narrator is in the present, telling a story that happened to him back fifty years ago, or around 1905. Faulkner's own life span corresponds somewhat to the time frame, his being around the same age as the narrator as a child. What makes this interesting then, is adding in the time factor of the era in which it is being read, for example, my reading of it in the year 2009.

So much had changed in the American South between 1905 and 1960 and particularly in the areas of race and gender rights and struggles on which Faulkner focuses. I have been through Georgia on a road trip back in '61; though I was only a kid myself I do remember the separate public bathrooms for blacks and whites. Here, nearly a half century later things have changed so very much again, striving for a balance and equality of spirit that transcends the legal letter of the law that was itself so ponderously slow in coming.

How different do we read a book then, a story that encapsulates a time period of which we have little knowledge except from slanted history texts, if not through those who've been there, who write the feeling rather than the flatness of the time?

Then again, I guess some things take longer to change.

Faulkner has kept this story strictly linear, straight first person narrator, starting with a dramatic opening scene, then continuing with setting up of environment while introducing his characters and their relationships. Pretty straightforward writing style here, and except for the rather overbloated detail of setting up the story, the only literary element missing was a more intense pace.

Now we are starting, with the theft of the automobile, the new characters of the ladies, and the trading of the automobile for a horse that needs to learn how to run and win a race, to have some much-needed action. Now I'm not one who needs action, but we did need something by way of strong conflict at this point of the story, and we get this in the rush to meet a deadliine and the underlying threat to all if they cannot win back the car.

Faulkner is still Faulkner, however; we are gradually finding quite an interesting character developing in Lucius, the eleven year-old narrator. We have already seen him change the character of Boon, and of Miss Corrie. We have seen a change in him as he struggles to become worldy-wise while retaining his own sense of ethics.

As the plan goes into action to race the horse, the narrator sleeps up in the attic with Otis, another young boy at the house who is very different than Lucius. When Otis reveals that he has made money by drilling peepholes into the rooms and charged others to spy on what was going on with Miss Corrie and her customers, Lucius feels rage and disgust and attacks him. Otis, however, has a knife and while he takes a bad beating, Lucius grabs the knife away and is badly cut.  Miss Corrie comes up to dress the wound and Otis has told her what the fight was about. She is obviously moved by Lucius' actions.

Corrie's promise not to prostitute herself is made because she has seen someone else defend her virtue. Lucius is a product of his upbringing and while he doesn't know exactly what's going on here, he knows that Otis' actions played on the evil side of man's nature, and in the process, further degraded Miss Corrie's own. He is learning fast:

Lucius has resolved to his understanding that his taking the car with Boon and taking off was a struggle that Non-virtue seemed to make all too easy, his lies were corroborated just by circumstance and helped pave his path to the forbidden. With this encounter, he has seen that things happen just as easily when one does the right thing. Just as Miss Corrie has learned that good does exist, so has Lucius and they have formed a bond in their acceptance.

Okay, I made that up, but it seems that this is what Faulkner is doing as he builds the character base and the importance of the automobile to plot.

It brings to mind making tapioca, or more particularly, jelly or candy where you must stir constantly while heating though nothing much appears to be going on. All at once, a certain temperature is reached and the boiling cannot be controlled by stirring and the mixture must be taken off the heat before it overflows the pot.

Faulkner has given us enough time spent with the two main characters, Boon Hoggenbeck and Lucius Priest, and has them past their first hurtle of taking off with the automobile on a secret joyride that will last supposedly for a day or two until they must return the car. Here, with the addition of the stowaway Ned, and the interest of Miss Reba's house of ill repute, we have more interaction that moves the story a bit more quickly.

And just as the story is starting to form those tiny bubbles at the edge of the pot, Faulkner threatens to boil: Ned has traded the auto for a racehorse.

Interesting, as Faulkner gives voice via his narrator into a manner of labeling generically the political positions of his own time by describing the whorehouse's master (or pimp):

Picking up some speed here with the reading; hate to say it, but the first 80 pages were duller than matte paint.

Boon has been warning Lucius and Ned about this particular spot and how hard it would be to get the car across this mudhole portion of road. What the other two were not made aware of is that there is a gent who is not only prepared sitting by with mules and tackles to get the passersby through the mud for a fee, he is also responsible for producing and maintaining the obstacle.

I like Faulkner's facing up to the clash of past and present, old and new. There is an element of change and there is something that never changes: the folks who will always be there to take advantage of opportunity for self gain.

One of the first things I noticed about Cormac McCarthy's writing style was a propensity to double up on words and phrases that emphasized the meaning. For example, something like "the sun was hot, was hot, and was hot," which isn't from anything McCarthy, just a quickie as an example. Another writer (why can't I recall?) did this as well. It sets the fact in the reader's mind exactly how hot the sun felt.

But with Faulkner, I'm seeing a duplication of meaning using a different word that is set to emphasize perhaps, but to my editing mind, comes off like an editing change of which word is better, choose one, drop the other.

While reaching and approaching are not exactly alike in meaning, one being successful where the other is nearly so, their use here would seem to make the difference negligible. Whereas the two words may even be in conflict with each other, one could say that it would be a clarifying term, had approaching come before reaching. This would indicate a moment's movement that could make the difference.

Movement again is the subject of the next pair of verbs–and Faulkner does this most often with verbs–and while lurched and canted indicate two different motions, I can't help but think that either one singley used would have sufficed.

What is the mood behind Faulkner's choice of diction? Could it be that we have an old man telling a tale and this speech pattern becomes more intimate with its voice of reality? For me, however, always and ever in editing mode, I see it as a returned-from-workshopping eagerness to change the words of the writer.

Slow. Ploddingly so. I am missing something here, I'm sure, but I'm about to miss more as I plan to scan-read through some of this to find something that holds me to Faulkner's story.

Yes, I am ashamed of myself; I'm obviously missing the magic somehow. There are several instances where Faulkner repeats his statement using different words lengthening an already somnambulant story. The plot points have been the planning of this trip and the manipulations on the part of both Boon and Lucius to get away from the family and take off in the automobile. Ned is a stowaway and Faulkner introduces his presences with a bit of humor as Ned's flatulence gives him away.

So I'll be skipping some passages, thoroughly ashamed of my illiterate ways.

Faulkner has taken a heck of a lot of time to give us an environment with a couple of characters and an adventure about to begin. At this point, those who like action and fast paced reading might have continued reading to find some satisfaction in the story. I must admit though that even I, a staunch convert to Faulkner, was finding myself reading a paragraph or two and putting the book down, unimpressed by story, character, prose.

But now that I'm over that hurdle of the first seventy pages, it seems that I am getting the feeling of the interaction between the two main characters of the boy, Lucius and Boon Hoggenbeck as they 'steal' the boy's grandfather's car for some enjoyment before they are bound to return it. 

There are two main points made by this book, one being the relationship between Southern blacks and whites in the early part of the 20th century and the other being the nature of good and evil as the boy recognizes his own capacity for lying to go along with Boon's plan.

While I'm still not excited about Faulkner's narrative style in this particular novel, I do see where it was all leading and am looking forward to a more interesting story unfolding.

Fifty pages in, yet I do not feel the Faulkner magic, the connection with the characters and the place. It makes me wonder if mood is relative, if perhaps reality must be left behind to become totally absorbed with his stories–it's been a while.

There is one trick that Faulkner uses here that I hadn't seen in other novels (of his) I've read: the story starts with "Grandfather said" in bold subtitle and from there the story unwinds as told by the Grandfather to the narrator (odd, but true if you take the subtitle at face value). Faulkner then uses parenthesis to clarify some statements that would qualify as "asides." These bring the reader into a more intimate situation whereby he, together with the narrator, are fed details in a one-to-one basis.

Unfortunately, I have been finding this parenthesized "asides" rather annoying. The story is loaded with characters, of which Boon, the child who is the narrator's grandfather, and the grandfather are paramount to the story so far, but which seem to clutter the action. The action being a simple setup of place and situation and the focus an automobile and the status of the hierarchy of the family, the business, and the employees. These "asides" are halting; as if to remind me that not only is a tidbit being offered, but that it is the grandfather who is telling the story.  I can read no more than a page or two at a time.

So, will Faulkner redeem himself in my literary opinion or shall I merely plod through a classic story told by a master storyteller for the homage due him?

Not nuts about the first twenty pages of this and I do hope it gets better as it moves deeper into the story. Right now, there's a basic plot, a bit of action to drive it, and a truckload of characters that are falling over each other for my attention. Too many people, too many bits of detail, too much unnecessary stuff that overshadows the reader's chance to fall in with these folk. I find myself forcing the reading to get beyond a "who cares?" attitude.

It is Faulkner, however, so of course I'm bound to catch the rhythm eventually.

Your typical backwoods family: Anse, hardworking, toothless, faithful, semi-useless; Addie, his wife, very hardworking, resentful, cheated on her husband, dead at an early age; Cash, their oldest son, focused, determined, honest; son Darl, intelligent, watchful, non-risk-taking, strange, arsonist; son Jewel (son of Addie and NOT Anse), wooden-eyed, angry, loner, fiercely loyal; daughter Dewey Dell, dopey, pregnant, loving; youngest son Vardaman, just a kid trying to hold it all together.

Faulkner’s technique in using the multiple point of view and stream of conciousness form provides the reader with a more intimate relationship with the characters, and the involvement requires closer reading to develop insight and decision as to their credibility.  We find ourselves believing one, then may after hearing from others, change our minds.

Conflicts:  Death, unwed pregnancy, adultery, arson, floods, stinky coffin, nutty son, broken wagons, manipulations, selfishness, abortion, surprise wedding.

Faulkner certainly puts a lot of action and misery within one family situation.  Narrative structure is reinforced by different points of view but remains linear with inclusion of some backstory woven within.  Information is fed to the reader in bits gleaned from a myriad number of characters, mainly family and neighbors, so that the story is built in layers of clues that parallel unseen until they connect and move forward.  I visualize the DNA graphics we see in twisting strands of different colored pearls.

Only Faulkner knows how to create literary life using these pearls.