Absalom, Absalom!

Absalom, in the Hebrew religion, was the son of David, the most beloved of him and the one who rebelled against his father and was finally killed in a battle. Before that happened, he took revenge for the rape of his sister by their half-brother, having him killed.

Now, if you read or even better know all this story, you are on a very good path to understand Faulkner's story. And if you think that all these were spoilers, I will tell you that Faulkner, with his well-known style, almost on the first pages of the book, tells exactly what will happen. But the characteristics of the book and Faulkner's writing style are that of course it is not read easily (I read three books in parallel until I finished this one), the language is rather difficult to understand, there are poetic elements...aha, not even, I'm just saying that a sentence, until it ends, can cover up to one and a half pages, the plot of the writer is non-existent, as the chapters start from wherever, the writer writes exactly as it comes to him, thinking that you may have lived all these things too so you don't need many explanations, countless names (fortunately my God at the end of the book there was the genealogy, because otherwise...), disturbing content with wretched characters, blood mixtures...

So why is Faulkner considered a master? Literally, I went to Google and typed this question... The answer is approximately what I mentioned above. However, and because of all the above, Faulkner is a great writer. I remember that even from the school years when I had to study one of his works, it was what we say, I loved to hate him. The themes he chooses for his books are almost boring when you describe them, but ethically they are good to read, the language is extremely difficult but undoubtedly on another level...

But where I think he wins over everyone is in the characters he creates. People, I would say ancient people

Faulkner's polyphonic construction is set chronologically during the Civil War period and geographically in the American South. While the plot ostensibly concerns the rise and fall of Thomas Sutpen, it actually examines the journey of his family as a whole, the choices of its members, and the way their lives were affected by Sutpen's actions. Faulkner's text is moderately demanding, requiring the mental participation of the reader and constituting an interpretive exercise.

With long sentences and without sacrificing the coherence of what each character says, the events of past years unfold through the encapsulated memories of Rosa and the protagonist Quentin Compson's grandfather, through letters, and through hypotheses by Quentin and his friend Shreve. The portrayal of 17th-century American countryside is intense and realistic, yet the narration mainly relies on language. The words, the lexical choices, are what present, in the linguistic field, those elements of human tragedy. Moreover, the atmosphere that Faulkner creates during the characters' monologues, the flow of consciousness, in which the narrative present mingles with the past, generates intense emotions. The story of the Civil War is of little interest in the development of the plot, and the focus is on the drama of the family, mainly, and its structures. Nevertheless, critical views on the historical situation of the country are not avoided, as on page 260: [...]the South would realize that it was now paying the prize for having erected its economic edifice not on the rock of stern morality but on the shifting sands of opportunism and moral brigandage.

The objective games are quite many, as Faulkner uses classical as well as Christian prototypes. From the title, the biblical figure of Absalom, the third son of David, whose story prefigures the journey of one of the characters in the work and testifies to the tragic dimension that prevails, is already projected. Parallelly, the text is read as a contemporary version of an ancient tragedy. The mythological background is constantly present, with references to Cassandra, Clytemnestra, and Agamemnon, Thisbe and Pyramus, as well as to the dragon's teeth sown, which is part of the myth of Cadmus and the foundation of Thebes. Notably borrowed from ancient Greek tragedy, on the one hand, is the theme of the inescapability of fate, the εἱμαρμένης, Fate, destiny, retribution, irony – the stage manager, call him what you will, which makes man the plaything of circumstances, unable to go against what has been determined for him (there was something about a man’s destiny (or about the man) that caused the destiny to shape itself to him like his clothes did), on the other hand, is the theme of the sin that plagues generations, the stigma that survives in the blood of descendants and determines their outcome ([...]as though there were a fatality and curse on our family and God Himself were seeing to it that it was performed and discharged to the last drop and dreg. […]even I used to wonder what our father or his father could have done before he married our mother that Ellen and I would have to expiate and neither of us alone be sufficient;).

In approximately the second part of the work, the true intention of the writer becomes evident. Faulkner poses the question of whether one can know everything about a case, to what extent one can reach absolute truth. The protagonist Quentin and his college roommate and friend Shreve constantly attempt to fill the gaps in Miss Rosa's narrative, to rediscover what happened in the模糊 points. So, while in the first half of the work the development was lacking, from the text it seemed that there were parts missing that would allow for its coherence, something that is applied to most modernist texts, in the second half Faulkner touches on the boundaries of postmodernism. Roland Barthes writes in The Death of the Author:

  In ethnographic societies, narration is never undertaken by a single person but by an intermediary, a saman or messenger, whose “performance” (i.e., the control of the narrative code) we can at most admire, but never his “genius.”

With the game of the optical angle, Faulkner manages to show the story as a construction, mocking the reader, asking him to judge the reality of what he reads, proposing the adoption of a kaleidoscopic reading. The narrators are unreliable and often hint at events that probably never took place.

*I could not but mention the annotations of Elli Marmara in the Greek edition of Absalom, Absalom!, extremely helpful regarding the historical events and the personalities of the era, as well as the posts of the Lesche - although I was late in participating in the共读, I used the most locatable notes during my own reading.


https://thesuspendedstep.wordpress.com/2016/10/10/...

A fable with Dionysian spirit and an indeterminate destination.

So indeterminate, complex and dense in its passage that it initially creates fear and then terrifies.

It is a purely ancient Greek tragedy set in the heart of the American South with its inherent passage.

The protagonists, substantial and mutually exclusive consciously, suffer, are tortured, humiliated and judged within lofty outbursts of orthodoxy.

They persist.

These creations, which the author writes about with varying mastery, exceed the common perception.

Perhaps within this compelling alternation of lyricism and narration, I lost the criticality and grandeur of their actions and failed to fully approach them.

Maybe I didn't let them, due to inattention, touch my heart. To rule me, to carry me along. They turned their backs on me, detecting in me a receptive inability for the unspoken.

I perceived a harmony of elements that refer to the union of logic and emotion.

I felt the coexistence - within souls that determined creation - of pain, passion, culture and primordial nature. The wonder of antiquity. Their magnificent drama. As there.

Their actions are absolutely extreme between dreamland and reality, are exhaustive, terrifying and dangerous. Vain. Painless.

They are swept along dancing with Dionysian frenzy between good and evil. Between virtue and vice. Between light and darkness. Houses and common human actions appear but they are not... They have hidden and terrifying genetic motives.

Mapped to their unique destination. The tragedy. The resistance to the impulse.

The reader will feel neither pity nor sympathy. The drama that exceeds the protagonists is the outcome of the experience they chose to live.

They deserve it... They defend it. They manage it. Perhaps even leading themselves to a voluntary purifying catharsis.

They ally with fate. They give birth to mystery. They hinder logic and abduct our imagination that remains unprotected against every logical attack.

Faulkner rages. He bites. He surprises and makes his victim with poisonous literary and exhaustive procedures.

He writes a dense literary struggle and disturbs it alternately from existential exhaustion and sought-after confusion.

Oh! Absalom Absalom why should I read you soberly? (rhetorical question).

Good reading.

Endless greetings!

Ladies and gentlemen, I am truly excited to introduce the most remarkable book I have ever had the pleasure of reading. William Faulkner, my beloved author, is renowned for his genius, creativity, and absolute mastery of the written word. However, my admiration for him does not solely stem from my personal affection. I must admit that delving into Faulkner's literary landscapes is no easy task. It was nearly a year ago, around this very time, that I completed my journey through 'The Sound and the Fury,' and that book left an indelible mark as the best I've ever read. Now, after a year, another of his works has claimed this esteemed title.

The differences:
In 'The Sound and the Fury,' Faulkner minimized descriptions of the environment. However, in this book, he vividly enhanced his unique and beautiful portrayals. Quentin Compson is a character common to both novels. In 'The Sound and the Fury,' he was a young student at Harvard who took his own life. In this book, he is alive and still a Harvard student. The storytelling approach in these two novels also differs significantly. In 'The Sound and the Fury,' Faulkner used four specific narrators, structuring his story in a stream-of-consciousness manner across four chapters. In this novel, although Faulkner's style remains consistent, the narrators unexpectedly and irregularly switch roles.

Similarities:
The stories in both novels unfold in Faulkner's fictional world of Yoknapatawpha. This is a country with two cities, Jefferson and Memphis, and a population of 15,611. During the time frame of the story, Jefferson was the only settlement with an inn, six shops, a blacksmith, a stable, a tavern, and three churches, housing only thirty households. Faulkner, through novels like "Sanctuary," "Moses," and "Light In August," portrays the evolution of this country over time. The narrative style of both novels is stream-of-consciousness. Faulkner's central concern remains the same: depicting the lives and challenges of blacks, whites, and reds living together and highlighting the differences between the South and the North. In my opinion, Faulkner's dedication to his people and his abhorrence of human enslavement significantly contribute to his literary eminence.

Now, before I get into the story, let me talk about the book's title. Faulkner does not randomly select titles for his novels. This book follows the same pattern, and I will explain it like a story. Approximately three millennia and thirty-three years ago, in the nation-state of Israel, a king named David ascended the throne. During the early stages of his rule, David succumbed to the temptation of adultery with the wife of Uriah the Hittite, a woman of great beauty. This illicit union resulted in David's firstborn son, Amnon, whom he officially recognized as the heir to his throne. After some time, a court prophet, who had the privilege of serving the Israeli king, conveyed a divine message of displeasure regarding the adulterous act. The divine retribution for this moral transgression was the death of David's first son. David was also married to a woman named Maeka, with whom he had another son and a daughter. Tragically, his second son did not live long and passed away in childhood. His third son, Absalom, was renowned for his beauty and distinctive long hair. The title 'Absalom, Absalom' was borrowed by Faulkner from David's lamentations over his son's untimely death.

The story unfolds as follows: Amnon committed a heinous act of sexual assault against his sister, Tamar, who was the daughter of his father's lawful wife. This abhorrent act enraged David, but his dynastic aspirations for Amnon led him to absolve his son of punishment. Absalom, ambitious by nature and consumed with envy towards his half-brother - the product of the aforementioned adultery - considered Amnon's violation of their sister an unforgivable crime. Consequently, he murdered his elder brother, the crown prince, and fled from Jerusalem, the capital of Israel, in fear of paternal reprisals. After a period of three years and two months, David, faced with an heirless throne, pardoned Absalom, his only surviving son, and summoned him back to Jerusalem. Upon his return, Absalom, believing himself to be a worthy candidate for the throne, staked his claim. This audacious claim incited his father's wrath, leading to an attack on Absalom. When Absalom discovered his father's impending attack with a large military force, he attempted to flee. Alas, during his flight, his long hair became entangled in a tree, resulting in his unfortunate strangulation. Upon finding his son's lifeless body beneath the tree, David was overcome with grief, crying out in despair: 'Oh my son Absalom... Oh my son Absalom...'

I want to give a short summary of the story here. The tale begins on the evening before Quentin's departure for Harvard. He is summoned to the dark, sweltering home of family friend Rosa Coldfield, who shares her version of the story surrounding her brother-in-law, Thomas Sutpen. Sutpen, arriving in the region in the 1830s, acquires the land for Sutpen's Hundred through dubious and potentially illegal means. Establishing a prosperous plantation, he seems destined for wealth and influence. Rosa's portrayal of Sutpen is ominous, constantly depicting him as a devil or demon. She describes Sutpen as a brutal man who forces his slaves to fight for his entertainment, sometimes even participating himself. Marrying Rosa's elder sister Ellen for social status, Sutpen fathers two children, Judith and Henry. Rosa suggests that men like Sutpen led to the South's defeat in the Civil War, a divine punishment according to her beliefs. Quentin's father recounts the same story with a markedly different tone. Initially a mysterious figure, Sutpen, known for taking rooms in town and allegedly purchasing land with Spanish gold, would disappear for long periods. He would return with a large number of slaves, clearing land and building Sutpen's Hundred. Sutpen's wild lifestyle changes when he courts Ellen Coldfield, devoting himself to her family. However, suspicions arise about the legality of his wealth acquisition. On the day of his engagement to Ellen, he is arrested but later bailed out by the Coldfields. Quentin's father provides additional details about Rosa. Her mother's death during childbirth leaves Ellen, already married to Sutpen, as Rosa's older sister. Ellen undergoes a transformation that Rosa despises due to her association with Sutpen. Charles Bon, Judith's fiancé, is introduced, and Rosa, now in poverty, remains at a distance until summoned by Wash Jones, a poor farmer. Charles's letter to Judith reveals a complex story, including his friendship with Henry and a love affair with Judith. Sutpen tells Henry that Charles has a secret wife of mixed race, leading to a family rift. Rosa resumes the narrative, stating that Wash Jones summoned her because Henry killed Charles. Engaged to Sutpen briefly, Rosa flees the plantation after an unexplained insult. She informs Quentin that someone has been secretly living at Sutpen's Hundred. In school, Quentin learns of Miss Rosa's death and shares the story with his roommate, Shreve. Thomas Sutpen's downfall is revealed, involving a relationship with Wash Jones's daughter and his subsequent murder by Wash Jones. Quentin recalls Charles Bon's illegitimate son, raised by Judith, who fathered Jim Bond, a simple-minded man. Shreve recounts their exploration of Sutpen's Hundred, confirming Rosa's predictions and uncovering more. Quentin reveals Sutpen's past as a foreman on a West Indies sugar plantation, marrying and fathering Charles Bon. Upon realizing his wife's African heritage, Sutpen leaves and later attempts to prevent Charles's marriage to Judith by claiming they are half-siblings. Henry, enraged by the revelation of Charles's racial background, kills him. The story concludes with Quentin and Shreve envisioning the day of Charles Bon's death. They speculate on Henry's replacement of Judith's photo with that of his illegitimate family, indicating Charles didn't deserve her grief. Rosa and Quentin find Henry at the house, waiting to die, prompting Rosa to call for an ambulance. Clytie, thinking it's the police, sets the house on fire. When Shreve questions Quentin's apparent hatred for the South, Quentin denies it.

Tolstoy posits that all great literature can be distilled into one of two fundamental stories: either a man embarks on a journey or a stranger arrives in town. While I might not divide it so neatly into two equal halves, if we do hold Tolstoy's view in high regard, then this particular novel is my absolute favorite of the Stranger-Comes-Into-Town variety. The journey counterpart, of course, is The Magic Mountain.

This happens to be my very first encounter with Faulkner's work. I find myself half chiding myself for allowing so many years of my life to pass by without experiencing his genius, and half celebrating the fact that we have finally been introduced. "Acquainted" - such a feeble word. The truth is, I am completely in love.

As a self-respecting belle who has been thoroughly swept off her feet, I can be nothing but deeply smitten. Austen so aptly put it when she said that one cannot speak much of love. There are countless elements that make this novel truly great, and I simply lack the talent to string together proper sentences to do it justice.

I am in awe of how skillfully this Southern Gothic tale manages to masquerade as a horror story all the way until the very end. It keeps the reader dazzled and confused, yet completely immersed in a labyrinth of multigenerational secrets and tragedies that unfold as the South crumbles.

'Ah,' Mr Compson said. 'Years ago we in the South made our women into ladies. Then the War came and made the ladies into ghosts. So what else can we do, being gentlemen, but listen to them being ghosts?'

The 1983 Guinness Book of World Records claims that the "Longest Sentence in Literature" is found in Chapter 6 of this very novel, containing a whopping 1,288 words.

Here is where Faulkner truly has me reaching for my smelling salts: he is fully aware that this is a convoluted story, he knows that his writing is highly lyrical, he knows that he is (successfully) elevating the art of storytelling to a whole new level, and he knows that his sentences are long and the perspective shifts frequently. And yet, he is here for his Reader:

\"She waited four years, with no word from him save through Henry that he (Bon) was alive.\"

I had to read a quarter of the novel before I realized that Faulkner anticipates that in any convoluted storytelling process, someone will inevitably interrupt with the question "He, he who?" To address this, Faulkner always makes sure to clarify who the narrator is referring to. This only serves to enhance the story and Faulkner's confidence in himself as a master storyteller. He does not set out to deliberately confuse his Readers.

Faulkner is a great writer who understands that the Reader cannot and should not be bogged down by such technicalities. After all, this would be a failure on the part of the storyteller (I'm looking at you, José Donoso, see here). The Reader is far too preoccupied to be confused, for the sentences are long and breathtaking, and somewhere in the next sentence, a word like'scuppernong' (the first grape cultivated in the United States) will be dropped.

Yes, a reader of Faulkner is a busy reader indeed.

Suddenly, I am reminded of that overly overused Nietzsche quote “I am a forest, and a night of dark trees: but he who is not afraid of my darkness, will find banks full of roses under my cypresses.”

And the air is filled with the intense scent of Lady Emma Hamilton.

I would marry this book if our proud nation didn't define marriage as being only between a man and a woman.

This book has become such an integral part of my life. It has accompanied me through countless hours of joy and sorrow.

Every page holds a world of its own, filled with captivating stories, profound ideas, and beautiful language.

When I open its cover, I am transported to different places and times, experiencing emotions that I never thought possible.

The connection I feel with this book is deeper than any I have ever had with a human being.

It understands me in a way that no one else can. It listens to my thoughts and feelings without judgment.

If only the laws of our nation allowed it, I would gladly enter into a union with this book, vowing to cherish and protect it for the rest of my days.

Alas, for now, I can only express my love and admiration for this wonderful creation in words.

The power of a novel is determined by the power of the conflicts that underlie it. In the novel "Absalom, Absalom!" several powerful conflicts are laid. The deepest and most interesting to Faulkner is the racial conflict, but not just as a confrontation between races or the unjust oppression of one race by another, although that is also part of it. In the sphere of his intense attention is the conflict of the white race's refusal to recognize even a drop of African American blood in a person who looks completely white on the outside. Entangled in a sense of superiority of their race over all others, this deeply racist conflict of non-recognition of African Americans, even in the tiniest fraction, outweighs any feelings, even paternal and fraternal. Brother kills brother. In this novel, there are also other powerful conflicts - the silent struggle for recognition by the father of the legitimate son from the first marriage with Eulalia Bon, a woman of mixed race, the conflict caused by the potential incest in the case of Charles Bon's marriage to Judith. The brother kills the brother not because of the potential incest (for example, he looks for justifications in historical examples), but because of the inability to come to terms with the idea that his sister will marry a man with 1/16 African American blood. But why does Charles stubbornly go to Judith? Because he has tried all possible ways for his father, even if indirectly, for example, by returning to him an unopened letter to Judith, to recognize him as his son. If he comes to marry Judith, he hopes that Sutpen, by his interference and prohibition, will recognize paternity. Hence the title. Henry fled from the court, then hid on the old plantation with Clytie. All three, Thomas Sutpen, and his sons Charles Bon and Henry, died tragically. The old man Sutpen tried to preserve his dynasty as if there was some sense in it, while behaving like a patriarchal tyrant. In all this family history, or rather the history of its decline, there is some senseless obsession, stupid "principle", which led to the downfall.

The novel itself is constructed as a conversation between Quentin Compson, the hero of another novel "The Sound and the Fury", with Rosa Compson, his father, and Shreve, a roommate at the university. This is not a simple description of events, but a retelling of past events, a view from "today" (1909) into "yesterday", and this past is stretched in time, covering events long before, during, and twenty years after the Civil War between the North and the South, lasting almost a whole century, told by different people at different times, which destroys any linearity, truth, creating a feeling of uncertainty, unreliability, since there are many guesses and interpretations made by the storytellers themselves, turning them into a myth-like family memory.

This novel is Faulkner's attempt to understand why the South became what it became. Describing Sutpen, a native of Virginia, through the mouth of Quentin (yes, in this novel everything is only second-hand), the author shows the fundamental difference between the worldviews and ethical norms of the North and the South in relations related to property (although, it must be said, racism among northerners towards the indigenous peoples of America was no different, the difference was rather in slavery): "... born there, he had never even heard, could not imagine that there existed a place where the land was neatly divided and appropriated by people who did nothing but ride horses beautifully over it or sit dressed in beautiful clothes on the verandas of their big houses, while others worked on it; he could not then imagine that such a life existed, or that anyone would want to live such a life, or that all those things existed that they had there, or that the owners of these things could not only look down on those who did not have them, but that in this they were helped not only by other owners of the same things, but even by those very people on whom they looked down, those who did not have these things and never would. Because there, where he lived, the land belonged to everyone and anyone, and therefore a person who was not too lazy to fence off a piece of land and say: "This is mine" was simply crazy; and as for things, no one had more of them than you, because everyone had exactly as many as he was able to take and hold, and only a crazy person would not be too lazy to seize or even just wish for more things than he could eat or exchange for gunpowder or whiskey. That's why he didn't know that there existed land that was all neatly divided and fixed, and on which lived people who were also neatly divided and fixed depending on the color of their skin and what they owned, and where a few had appropriated to themselves the right not only to dispose of the life and death of others, not only to exchange them, buy and sell them, but also to force other people to endlessly perform various personal services for them, for example, pour whiskey from a bottle into a glass and bring them this glass or take off their shoes when they go to bed, - in other words, do for them everything that people have had to do and have been doing for themselves since time immemorial until they die, even if this does not please anyone at all and never will, but that all those he knew never thought of shifting to others, just as it would never occur to them that someone could chew, swallow or breathe for them."

Faulkner summarizes:
"... the South will understand: it is time to pay for the fact that it built the building of its economic system not on the solid scale of stern virtue, but on the shifting sands of unprincipled adaptation to circumstances and bandit morality."

Starting to read Absalom, Absalom! can be a perplexing experience. It's as if you walk into a room where your friends are engaged in a crucial conversation, but you missed the beginning. You're left in the dark, unable to determine who or what they're discussing and why they're so engrossed. They're so focused that they won't stop to listen to your request to start over. All you can do is try to make sense of the scattered clues and signs you manage to catch and piece together bits of the narrative on your own, at least for the time being. Of course, you could walk away and give them privacy, but then you'd be missing out on a great literary work.

Just like the formation of a pearl, where mollusks deposit calcium carbonate in concentric layers as a defense mechanism against a threatening irritant, William Faulkner seems to have constructed this novel in a similar way. He idealized the plot and characters, but then realized that a tragic event, like a crime, would be the downfall of his creations. Instead of telling the story conventionally, he carefully protected and isolated it with layer upon layer of different perspectives from unreliable narrators. This begs the question: In how many different ways can the same story be told? And can each of these perspectives exist independently?

There are four main characters in this quest to understand and make sense of the events that unfolded over a century: Rosa Coldfield, Jason and Quentin Compson (father and son), and Shreve McCannon, Quentin's roommate. The fates of the Sutpen, Coldfield, and Bon families are intertwined from the 1800s until the early 1900s.

Each of these four voices, who at some point become narrators of the story, has some knowledge of what happened during certain periods. However, part of this knowledge is based on guesswork or personal interpretations. As readers, we must be cautious about what we assume to be facts or just personal conclusions. Miss Rosa, who was emotionally involved in the tragedy, infuses her narrative with sentimentality and bias. Mr. Compson, on the other hand, relies on a hear-and-say account from his father. Quentin and Shreve approach the subject more objectively, simply summarizing the information they've gathered from various sources while still trying to understand the underlying motives of the characters' actions.

The novel's plot centers around the rise and fall of Thomas Sutpen, a poor white man with a grand plan for his life. He dreams of having a big mansion, a family, and heirs to carry on his name. After arriving in Jefferson, Mississippi, he manages to obtain land and build a magnificent mansion over the course of a few years. The next step is to find a wife, and he marries Ellen Coldfield, a local woman, and they have two children, Henry and Judith. Everything seems to be going according to plan until Henry brings home his friend Charles Bon for Christmas. The possibility of a wedding between Charles and Judith has drastic consequences for the three families, and only by analyzing their past can we begin to understand why a shocking killing occurred and how it changed Sutpen's plans.

In addition to its engaging plot, Faulkner's use of beautiful and interesting analogies, long Proustian sentences, and visual elements to portray the characters' feelings adds to the novel's appeal. He also gives each of his storytellers a unique voice, allowing them to express themselves in their own distinct ways. While it may not always be obvious who the narrator is in every passage, paying attention to the details and getting to know the characters' manners will make it easier to identify their voices.

Rating: The story of Absalom, Absalom! is truly fascinating, keeping readers on the edge of their seats until the end, eager to discover the truth about the families involved and longing for a reliable narrator to lay out all the facts. However, it's the innovative style and narratives that Faulkner employs here that really capture my attention and leave a lasting impression. I was so impressed by the craftsmanship and writing of this novel that I couldn't help but wonder multiple times, "How did he ever come up with something like this?" For this reason, I give it a well-deserved 5 stars.