What Was "The Big Thing" on Grice's Mind, If Any? We may learn a little about
it by examining, as we are with L. J. Helm, T. Powers's review of "William
Faulkner: A Life Through Novels," by André Bleikasten -- translated into
English from the original French by Miriam Watchorn with a little collaboration
by Little, Roger. Some believe it is a big mistake for anyone willing to
understand stuff in *history* to overlook, among other things, the *novels* of
Nobel-Prize winner William Faulkner, the American southern novelist (or
southern American novelist, if you must). This sounds paradoxical, on the face
of it. Novels are supposed to be 'fictitious': addressees approach them with a
'suspension of belief,' as Grice would call it. You don't approach, ceteris
paribus, history _that_ way.
The paradox may be resolved if we consider that, beneath the literary
"complexity" of Faulkner's 'fictional' novels, the "clearest" statement
(pertaining to 'history') is 'implicated' of, for example, what historians
regard as the core abuse that has driven conflict in many slavery regimes (as
when Aristotle's ethical system, some philosophers argue, is tainted by the
fact that he lived under one such regime). You have to pass "a test," as it
were, to proceed to learn 'history' from a 'fictional' novel, especially when
the motif of 'abuse' is at play.
One biographer of Faulkner, André Bleikasten, devoted his life to understanding
Faulkner's 'fictional' *novels.* Bleikasten did pass the test, obviously, but
it cannot have been that easy (rather 'difficult' I would rather gather) for
him. Bleikasten presents his addressee to the essay under review with several
examples of the test.
But the one that seems the bluntest emerges from that evening at Princeton when
Faulkner and J. R. Oppenheimer met. Faulkner and Oppenheimer were both being
celebrated: Oppenheimer for building the first atomic bomb; Faulkner for
writing fictional *novels.* (A rather silly member of the audience idiotically
thought that it was Faulkner ("the man on the left") who had built the first
atomic bomb, whereas the novelist was Oppenheimer ("the man on the right")).
Whereas Oppenheimer (like Grice) could talk to anybody about anything --
including atomic bombs! -- Faulkner, instead, Princetonians soon realised,
found casual conversation difficult with strangers (and non-foreigners alike,
for that matter!). A bare "yes" or alternatively a bare "no" was often all that
Princetonians managed to retrieve from Faulkner on that venerable occasion.
And then, out of the blue, Oppenheimer made a passing remark to the effect that
he had recently seen a television programme based on a story -- if not *novel*
-- by Faulkner. Oppenheimer did not mention which, but hastened to ask, again
slightly out of the blue, or to keep the conversation going, what Faulkner
thought, in general, of television as a medium. "Well, I don't particularly
think I would be interested to see a television programme about how your bomb
gets fabricated, darling," has his rude response -- some say. (Others say his
response was a bare 'No.')
This is the test: Are you prepared to believe that the Faulkner who uttered
such convoluted stupidity might *also* have something serious to say about
*history*?
The test may be slightly easier for Bleikasten because, unlike Faulkner,
Bleikasten is French. Bleikasten’s 'devotion' to Faulkner *the novelist* begins
with, shall we say, a happy accident. Bleikasten was needing a "safely dead
author of important novels for his doctoral thesis at this Department of
Foreign Languages (Bleikasten is a foreigner, from a foreign land where
"English" is the foreign language). Bleikasten was close to committing himself
to the Nottingham novelist D. H. Lawrence, of "Chatterley" infame. Just then,
Bleikasten receives the news that Faulkner had just died in Virginia, after
falling from his hard-to-control horse Toby. And, as things go, Bleikasten ends
up submitting his dissertation on novels of the recently deceased the American
Southerner rather than the English Midlander. Bleikasten pretentiously entitled
it "The Ink of Melancholy' (in French) -- and it passed the test!
Then people started pestering him: why not follow your dissertation ('the
opinions,' the *novels*) with a biography (a 'life', a *history*)? ("The life
and opinions of William Faulkner"). At first, Bleikasten resists. “There are
five lives of Faulkner already, in various languages," he answered. “Why a
sixth, pray?” An editor in a small publishing house “harried [him] for months
until finally [he] gave in.” "You know: Frenchmen love Colette -- but how many
have seriously read about both Faulkner's opinions -- or *novels* -- _and_ his
_life_ ?"
Bleikasten’s bit on the _life_ (or *history*) beneath Faulkner's novels did not
take that long to finish.Published in France, the 'life' wins various prizes.
Then Bleikasten died. An unhappy accident. Happily, his wife then takes on the
task of making Faulker's life or *history* (as told by Bleikasten) available in
Faulkner's own vernacular. The result is heavy in the hand (typically of
Indiana books), but the essay marches with narrative vigour, the result
principally of Bleikasten’s clarity (he leaves the difficulty to Faulkner[s
*novels*)) of thought (if not diction).
Bleikasten's various points are never softened or simplified. In this he is
anti-Faulkner. Faulkner famously once told Malcolm Cowley that he thought a
bare-bones epitaph would do for him:
“Here lies the body of William Faulkner.
He wrote novels. And then he died.”
Bleikasten puts the novels *first,* too. But Fleikasten sees things in "them
novels," the 'opinions' that the 'life' or *history* does help make visible.
The big facts of Faulkner’s life or history are the co-ordinates of place and
time, having been born in Mississippi iwhen the old Confederacy was enacting
Jim-Crow laws to exclude African-Americans from public life.
The intent of these laws was *reinforced* by mobs that brutally lynched
African-Americans for real and imaginary crimes. African-Americans were not
just hanged but were often tortured as well. During Faulkner’s childhood years,
Bleikasten counts, more than eighty African-Americans were lynched in
Mississippi only, including *one* in Faulkner’s very hometown. This was Nelse
Patton, charged with murder. A mob breaks into the jail with the help of local
boys, including Faulkner’s friend John Cullen, who are boosted through a window
so they can unlock the door from inside. Patton is shot dead, castrated,
attached to a car that drags him through the streets, and finally burned.
Faulkner is eleven at the time and indeed is living barely a hundred yards from
the jail. Faulkner writes about the *historical* Patton lynching in two of his
'fictional' *novels*: "Light in August" and "Intruder in the Dust."
The world of Faulkner’s childhood was obsessed with stuff like this. Whereas
Faulkner was born lucky, his family did not really hold a precisely great place
in town. A farmer in Faulkner’s short story (not *novel*) “Two Soldiers” is
described as being always behind. "He cannot get no further behind,” the
soldier's son remarks. Faulkner’s father was a bit like that. Faulkner's father
fails in business repeatedly and is fired from his job as comptroller at the
university when he refuses to contribute to local politicos. Faulkner’s
grandfather had been a 'bigger man,' locally but is disgraced after he runs off
with some Oxford town funds and “an octoroon.” The pride of the Faulkner family
was the GREAT-grandfather, who had fought in the Civil War and built a
railroad. The great-grandfather’s success with one *novel,* somewhat mawkishly
called "The White Rose of Memphis," prompts Faulkner to utter: “I want to be a
*novelist* like my great-grand-daddy -- even if I'll choose more complex titles
for my novels than he did."
While a compulsive reader, Faulkner drifts out of college before knowing how to
take the next step. On top, he was awkward with girls -- and some boys, for
that matter! Two of his early 'loves,' Estelle Oldham and Helen Baird abandoned
him to marry men whom they thought were better bets (Baird's marriage
eventually founders, and she curiously does end up marrying Faulkner, after
they happened to meet in the streeet:
"Will you marry me now -- that I hear you divorced?"
Faulkner confessed to his father: "My friends do not think we are gonna stick,
but it is gonna stick.” (Please note the implicature: it it is not "we are
gonna stick," but "IT is gonna stick." His father later recollected, "I never
knew what my son meant by 'it'.")
But why did, historically speaking, Faulkner want to marry Estelle Baird in the
second place? Baird (the Missus Faulkner) and Mister Faulkner were both
alcoholics and had nothing in common -- "other than this addiction for
alcohol," Bleikasten rather redundantly explains. When a daughter is born
(after the death in infancy of a premature baby girl Missus Faulkner strangely
named "Alabama" -- "In Italy, girls names end in "-a."), they quit having
sexual intercourse, and start tormenting each other.
Cheers,
Speranza
