This past December, I went to Barnes & Noble and bought a handful of books. Among them was a William Faulkner anthology called “Collected Stories.” I have personally been a fan of the author since I read “As I Lay Dying” in my early 20s and found the potential for literature cracking open. Given the girth of the volume, I knew it would be intimidating to just read the 42 short stories front to back, so instead I’ve decided to take my time. In doing so, I plan to cover one a week until completed. I will be using this space to share my opinions of each piece as well as any stray observations I may have picked up from the greater world of Faulkner mania.
There have been several corners of this anthology that have addressed racial dynamics in Faulkner’s imagined south. Taking place once again in Jefferson County, “Elly” is a story that takes another interesting turn. Having covered a mix of relationships between white and Black individuals, Faulkner is deciding to reflect something more ambiguous in the figure of Paul de Montigny. Like how “Dry September” explored the moral complexity of outside parties, he once again is judging from afar the core features of Paul. Who is Paul and why does he want to date Ailanthia, or Elly as she likes to be called? Like most of the author’s work, he shrouds the truth in mystery, largely fueled by racism and connection to the past.
Elly’s birthname is itself a tie to her grandmother. Once again, Faulkner is using womanhood as this maternal connection to the past. Ever since “A Rose for Emily” which opened the “Village” section, there’s this interest in holding onto the sanctity of women. In a literal sense, they have the power to give birth and prolong ideas that connect them to the Antebellum South, where slavery was legal. While not everything in this section has been about racism, it’s hard to not read every kook as having some nostalgic wish for “a simpler time” when it was more legal to oppress a whole population. Given that Faulkner personally believed that desegregation should be done gradually to upkeep the ways of the south, it makes sense why he’s so fascinated by these small changes.
Once again, Paul doesn’t really factor into his own narrative. Everyone is mad at Elly for getting into a relationship with him. More specifically, it is her family that she lives with and is dreaming of her future with the more socially accepted Phillip. Everywhere there is this comfort to the foundation and a past that pleases previous generations. There’s an inability to move forward no matter what, and Elly is just the latest example.
If this story has any clever component, it’s in trying to understand Paul. Whereas most would see racial politics as a literal Black and white situation, Faulkner is curious about the “passing” archetype. If Paul is indeed Black, he has this ability to look white enough not to be immediately judged. However, there are certain features that would make one immediately suspicious. There is his curly hair that is reminiscent of a knitted cap. Elsewhere his physical appearance doesn’t strike one as proportionally white. Without coming down on one side, Faulkner has found a way to show the ways this one family has a bias that is ultimately damaging.
Elly is also not the first sexually promiscuous protagonist in the author’s collection. She is part of a long line, as if to suggest that there’s more of an openness to what the future could hold. The restrictions of segregation don’t scare her. Her desires are shocking to the previous generations because they hold onto a past, wishing that whatever’s to follow is reminiscent of the world they grew up in. Like the best of Faulkner, this exists mostly in the characters’ imaginations, creating an ideal vision of Jefferson County that’s still very hostile, where a lynching was still considered morally acceptable. Elly has the ability to break off tradition depending on if she marries Paul or Phillip, though even then is she marrying for love or social status?
It is to his credit that Faulkner knows how to spin this angle enough to continually recontextualize this complicated issue. He’s able to create a whole world out of Yoknapatawpha County that feels real, concealed in amber, and able to be studied by future generations. Racism may have never truly gone away, but his turn of the century take allows for certain insights that are far more perplexing than something as glamorized as Margaret Mitchell’s “Gone With the Wind.” He allows everything to have an ugliness, criticizing the world that surrounds him and wondering if it’s possible for the future to truly be rid of the past.
With that said, “Elly” is yet another story about white women dating Black men and having a whole society turn on her. While it’s well composed, the “Village” section has quickly grown tiresome because whereas the “Country” had diverse analogies, this has been almost exclusively a story about repopulation, of holding onto a past with the most familiar of archetypes. Outside of “Centaur in Brass” or “Death Drag,” there’s not a lot of diversity in this section. While this is driven by a crackling use of hostile dialogue, there isn’t enough until the very end that is all that memorable. If anything, this is more of the same and reflects why some of the author’s work tends to fall by the wayside. He’s good, but he can be quite one track-minded at points.
In a lot of ways, the production of “Elly” is a lot more interesting than the results. According to The Digital Yoknapatawpha Project, early rejected articles made reference to “You and E. Oldham.” Historians will recognize this as the name of his wife Estelle Oldham, who was an unpublished writer. While they were wedded before Faulkner gained financial stability, their journey was much more complicated. Along with the death of their infant child Alabama Faulkner, the marriage wasn’t exactly an example of a writer swooning over his muse. While it was rooted in teenage love, it produced something much more complicated.
Oldham and Faulkner (whose surname was then “Falkner”) met as teenagers in Oxford. Her parents were the affluent Major Lemuel and Lida Oldham. While Falkner believed that he would marry her, fate played out differently. In 1918, she would marry Cornell Franklin to her parents’ blessing. In response, Falkner would join the Royal Air Force. Later on, he would claim that his alcoholism was started by not marrying Oldham. Even when they met later in life, that wasn’t enough to cure his addictive behaviors. While he introduced her to a strict regiment upon marriage, including an established wage, she would pass the time doing what is commonly referred to as retail therapy. Shopping made her happy, which didn’t work out too well for Falkner given that he didn’t have financial stability until 1949. During his early years, all that he had to his name was a home in Rowan Oak. By then he also added a “U” to his name to better appeal to English readers.
There’s no clear evidence to suggest that “Elly” is a definitive work of Oldham and Faulkner collaborating. If anything, there’s little to suggest that they were ever consistent partners despite both pursuing literature. There is no clear reasoning why Scribner’s Magazine’s rejection letter included this. There is almost zero clue as to who actually wrote it as the original manuscript lacks credit. With that said, “Elly” joins the pantheon of Faulkner stories to have gone under a handful of names. At the time of the aforementioned letter, it was called “Selvage,” which the letter mistakenly references as “Salvage.” Selvage is a reference to a sewing term. After some editing, it was published in February 1934. In later editions, including “Collected Stories,” there isn’t a single acknowledgment given to Oldham.
The world of Faulkner continues to grow with each new story, and it becomes interesting to see what personal ties could be linked to his work. Without doing strenuous research, it’s clear that his interest in the past continued to blossom over the years. Also placing them in the context of his first novel, “Soldier’s Pay” from 1926, adds interesting dynamics to an author who has since become deified. One of the things that I would like to see more of is to see if Oldham plays any significant part in his other work. Will there be stories of women who are impulsive and throw away their cares on useless possessions? There have been hints of it, but so far Faulkner’s women have been rather consistent in their goals.
Even with all of its familiarities, “Elly” is still an enjoyable story that shows how complicated racism can be. It obviously isn’t an issue that impacts one generation more than the other, and the ability to reflect this in small ways like a given name is further evidence why Faulkner was a master of the form. He knew how to interact with the audience and challenge them to deal with issues that have often been reduced to a simple good and evil. While this is one of the more direct stories in terms of intent, it still has enough going on to show that certain biases are inescapable not only between races, but in family. Women are somehow oppressed while holding the keys to the future. It’s a crazy mix of moments that give off a provocative ending. The only downside is that “Collected Stories” has a few others that do these ideas in much more satisfying ways.
Coming Up Next: “Uncle Willy”
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