William Faulkner —1— FROM a little after two o'clock until almost sundown of the long still hot weary dead September afternoon they sat in what Miss Coldfield still called the office because her father had called it that—a dim hot airless room with the blinds all closed and fastened for forty-three summers because when she was a girl someone had believed that light and moving air carried heat and that dark was always cooler, and which as the sun shone fuller and fuller on that side of the house became latticed with yellow slashes full of dust motes which Quentin thought of as being flecks of the dead old dried paint itself blown inward from the scaling blinds as wind might have blown them. There was a wistaria vine blooming for the second time that summer on a wooden trellis before one window, into which sparrows came now and then in random gusts, making a dry vivid dusty sound before going away: Her voice would not cease, it would just vanish. There would be the dim coffin-smelling gloom sweet and oversweet with the twice-bloomed wistaria against the outer wall by the savage quiet September sun impacted distilled and hyperdistilled, into which came now and then the loud cloudy flutter of the sparrows like a flat limber stick whipped by an idle boy, and the rank smell of female old flesh long embattled in virginity while the wan haggard face watched him above the faint triangle of lace at wrists and throat from the too tall chair in which she resembled a crucified child; and the voice not ceasing but vanishing into and then out of the long intervals like a stream, a trickle running from patch to patch of dried sand, and the ghost mused with shadowy docility as if it were the voice which he haunted where a more fortunate one would have had a house.
The real great American Novel: His ninth novel, for its span, its revelation, its American essence, stands above all others in reaching for the literary absolute. He handed the new manuscript to a friend and said, "I want you to read this.
I think it's the best novel yet written by an American. The fellow whom Faulkner had met while working for Warner Bros. It is Faulkner's ninth and best novel, "Absalom, Absalom! He argued well, but too soon, years before the appearance of "Absalom," which would have proved him wrong.
Norris might not have understood it for what it was. Apparently no one else did. Time magazine considered it Faulkner's best work, but most everyone else found it variously boring, baffling, unreadable, impressive in its technique but murky in meaning.
As Herman Melville's big whaling novel was poorly received nearly a century before, Faulkner reached the pinnacle of his career with "Absalom" but almost nobody grasped the magnitude of the achievement.
Literary opinion has since caught up with Faulkner. That's the good news. The bad news is that events in America have since validated the tragic vision of "Absalom," in which a scene near the climax shows a mentally retarded mixed-race teen-ager howling outside the burning hulk of a Southern plantation house.
The youth is a great-grandson of the white man who built the plantation, who decades earlier repudiated his part-black wife and son. This moral failure dooms the man and his family. As long as the consequences of racism continue to unfold in American courtrooms, prisons, cities and work places, Faulkner's metaphors will apply.
When he began writing the book in Faulkner wrote his publisher: It is a great novel in its historic span, elliptical revelation, layer by layer, of Mississippi pioneer Thomas Sutpen's doomed ambition. The novel is murder mystery, Greek tragedy, historical drama, Freudian family nightmare and Gothic ghost story.
It's a tale in which the real "action" is the storytelling. Much of the drama lies in the four narrators' struggle to grasp the truth.Out of quiet thunderclap he would abrupt (man-horse-demon) upon a scene peaceful and decorous as a schoolprize water color, faint sulphur-reek still in hair clothes and beard, with grouped behind him his band of wild niggers like beasts half tamed to walk upright like men, in attitudes wild and reposed, and manacled among them the French architect with his air grim, haggard, and taller-ran.
It is Faulkner's ninth and best novel, "Absalom, Absalom!" Novelist Frank Norris wrote in that The Great American Novel was pure myth, a hybrid creature that could never exist.
Absalom, Absalom!, William Faulkner ( - ) Absalom, Absalom! is a novel by the American author William Faulkner, first published in Taking place before, during, and after the Civil War, it is a story about three families of the American South, with a focus on the life of Thomas Sutpen.4/5(K).
In , a wild, imposing man named Thomas Sutpen comes to Jefferson, Mississippi, with a group of slaves and a French architect in tow. He buys a hundred square miles of land from an Indian tribe, raises a manor house, plants cotton, and marries the daughter of a local merchant, and within a few years is entrenched among the local aristocracy.
Absalom, Absalom! by William Faulkner is the story of a man who outraged the land that then turned and destroyed the man's family (Serafin ).
Growing up as a poor mountain white, Thomas Sutpen yearns for more than what he has ever had. William Cuthbert Faulkner was born in and raised in Oxford, Mississippi, where he spent most of his life. One of the towering figures of American literature, he is the author of The Sound and the Fury, Absalom, Absalom!, and As I Lay Dying, among many other remarkable books.
Faulkner was awarded the Nobel Prize in and France’s Legion of Honor in /5(24).