How (and why) to read William Faulkner - Sascha Morrell
You’re halfway through
what’s supposedly one of the greatest
novels of the 20th century,
but nothing quite makes sense.
Narrating characters offer clashing
versions of the same story
and often seem unsure who, what,
or when they’re talking about.
Seemingly minor details trigger intense
emotional reactions you don't understand.
And the prose is loaded with convoluted
sentences and outlandish imagery.
Confused? Good— that means
you’re on the right track.
William Faulkner is considered
one of America’s most remarkable
and perplexing writers.
Fortunately, he wasn’t just
toying with his audience.
Faulkner used confusion intentionally,
to explore the most mysterious parts
of the human mind
and investigate pressing issues of
personal, racial, and regional identity.
The result is a body of work that’s
shocking, inventive, and often hilarious—
but above all, challenging.
So what clues should readers look
for to navigate his literary labyrinths?
Many of Faulkner’s novels are set
in the fictional county of Yoknapatawpha—
a fantastical reimagining
of Lafayette County, Mississippi,
where he spent most of his life.
Born in 1897, Faulkner grew up steeped
in oral storytelling traditions,
from folklore and family histories
to local legends of Civil War glory.
However, these grand myths didn’t match
the messy reality of the American South,
divided by racist Jim Crow laws
and plagued by the legacies of slavery
and colonial violence.
All these tensions come alive
inside Yoknapatawpha.
Full of horror, humor, and human tragedy,
Faulkner’s stories feature
many memorable characters,
like the spurned bride who sleeps
beside her would-be husband’s corpse,
or the duped sharecropper obsessively
hunting for imaginary coins.
At first glance, these characters
seem grotesquely absurd.
But under the surface,
they all reflect his obsession
with how people process the past—
what they stubbornly hold on to,
unwittingly forget and willingly distort.
Much of Faulkner’s fiction is told
from multiple perspectives,
offering the reader several versions
of the story’s events.
For example, “The Sound and the Fury”
combines the narratives
of Benjy, Quentin, and Jason Compson,
three brothers haunted by memories
of their sister Caddy.
One brother's narration will occasionally
fill the gaps left by another's,
but just as often,
their accounts contradict each other.
To make things more confusing,
Benjy’s narration is disjointed in time,
slipping between past and present
without warning.
Meanwhile, Quentin's section
confuses fact and fantasy
as it jumps backward in time
from the day of his untimely death.
Only the aggressive, money-hungry Jason
attempts to embrace the present—
but even he is constantly overtaken
by past resentments.
Following these threads
can be bewildering,
but Faulkner wants the audience to share
in the characters’ confusion.
This approach allows readers
to understand the Compsons’
biases and blindspots firsthand.
And since his characters’ distortions
of the past
often reflect larger denials
of Southern history,
it also allows Faulkner to explore
his own anxieties about the South.
For example, his novel “Light in August”
deliberately induces ambiguity
about a character’s racial origins in ways
that undermine rigid Jim Crow policies.
And in “Absalom, Absalom!”
narrating townsfolk
remark that “no one knew how”
a local landowner had come
into his property,
and that his house was built
“apparently out of nothing.”
This kind of evasive language shows how
characters are desperate to cover up
the region's intolerable history
of genocide and slavery.
But even when exploring
the heaviest topics,
Faulkner spellbinds readers
with verbal acrobatics.
One particularly bewildering sentence
in “Absalom, Absalom!”
runs 1,288 words long,
and features locals haggling
over “violently-colored candy,”
a “cloudy swirl of chickens,”
and a hard-drinking planter
who’s compared to both
a worn-out cannon and a showgirl.
Even his jokes can breed more confusion,
such as when Benjy Compson conflates
his sister Caddy with golf caddies.
Reading Faulkner is rarely easy,
but it is deeply rewarding.
He invites readers to contemplate the
unreliable nature of history and memory.
And in teaching us to embrace confusion
and recognize the limits
of our perception,
Faulkner can help us listen
for hidden meanings
in the sound and fury that surround us.
