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.
What I love about “Collected Stories” is how each of these sections have advanced. While some of them could appear to be pointless and meandering upon initial read, those who take them cumulatively will end up finding Faulkner’s rich portrait of different themes and identities within his work. The most successful so far has been “The Wilderness,” if just for how it creates an understanding of Native Americans that eventually ties into the Yoknapatawpha County mythology, but every section ends with a brilliant stinger. “Lo!” was an allegory about how Andrew Jackson’s presidency led to genocide and here, at the tail end of “The Wasteland,” is “All the Dead Pilots” which not only captures the heights of World War I, but finally does something that the other stories haven’t really done: tie it back to his other work.
It should be noted that Faulkner had no obligation to make all of these stories take place in one venue. The chance to travel outside of America has been worthwhile and has created a complex portrait of the military and The Lost Generation. Still, there hasn’t been anything as sublime as reaching the end of this and finally seeing him connect the dots. For the first time since “Ad Astra,” he is using familiar characters to reflect his ideology and connect the characters to home. Enter Johnny Satoris, known mostly as a deceased pilot but whose memory reflects how perfectly everything Faulkner has discussed has always been about him fondly recalling an era that could’ve been easily lost to time.
Even the use of an unnamed narrator offers something effective in portraying an injured soldier censoring mail to deliver to Aunt Jenny. He has seen combat and doesn’t know the full story of Sartoris (as it stands, the story is alluded to in “Ad Astra” and the novel “Flags in the Dust”). What follows is a story about everyone who has returned home post-war but may not be able to adjust back to civilian life. In interviews at The University of Virginia, he mentioned that these soldiers were not “fitted” for this life and thus were “dead.” While little is seen of this existence outside of the narrator delivering mail, it’s still a perfect way to frame the events as past tense, memories of days gone by. Faulkner may as well be opening Sartoris’ message and living out these events himself.
In keeping with the other stories, “All the Dead Pilots” comments on what it means to be perceived as a hero. While stories like “Crevasse” and “Turnabout” show the controversial grey area, there is something sincere here in watching Sartoris get into fights with General Spoomer and Captain Spoomer: two snobs from a family of snobs. Along with a subplot involving a dog who eats trash, there is so much personality in every page that elevates these characters from mere soldiers doing their duty to men trying to survive and experience the wide array of emotions. Spoomer and Sartoris even fight over a woman named ‘Toinette. Whereas stories like “Victory” captured a conflicting view of military heroism, this is one where everything has a kind of nostalgia to it. The petty fights of “Turnabout” are gone and the plane battles between the two characters are merely done for entertainment.
The brilliance of ending with this story is that while everything started somber with “Ad Astra” and became more complicated as things continued, this is the note that clearly inspired Faulkner to write so thoroughly about the military. His choice to make everyone anonymous in the middle three stories was effectively done to show how many figures get lost in the shuffle. How many pieces of mail are forgotten about, whose families aren’t going to be the subject of an Evening Post entry? WWI is way too expansive for only five stories to properly cover, and yet there is something to exploring everything from trench warfare to naval and aerial battles that shows a unique perspective of war. This is how it felt to live through it before The Lost Generation became engulfed by trauma and the uncertainty of World War II.
Narratively, this is suggesting that every story is deserving of being preserved, to be shared, and given humanity that is often forgotten. Given how The Sartoris Family are frequently referenced in his work, there is something reassuring about turning to them for this central conceit. The fact that this isn’t even the complete story reflects a difficulty to see the whole picture unless you were there. A brother who is never mentioned here dies. The family’s connection to The Civil War also reflects a bittersweet recurrence of violence that ultimately shifts America’s view of itself. Even when people return, they have changed too much to be part of the America that has progressed during that time. How do they connect?
My concern was that none of these stories felt rooted in Yoknapatawpha lore, and that it ultimately hurt the reader’s connection to the characters. That may be why noticing Sartoris elevates this above the rest. Given that Faulkner was a registered pilot, he focused on The Royal Air Force because he believed they experienced a danger far more harrowing than any combat on the ground. Also, quite inadvertently, it better reflected a disconnect from the world outside of their view, where down below they had simpler dreams. They were lost among the stars, both seeing the awe and experiencing a level of isolation unlike any other. It also makes for the perfect image of someone forcefully being “grounded” back to normal life and being bored out of their skull.
The ending is also among the author’s best for how it manages to ultimately preserve the idea of “The Wasteland.” Even as mail is delivered to Aunt Jenny, there is the reality that certain things will always hold significance and that context elevates something as mundane as smokey wood. The receiver may never fully understand why these objects were near and dear, but they reflect ambiguous symbols that are now passed on to time to have others solve. The idea of a central character being dead also means that there is a finality, no way of accessing their opinions. It’s bittersweet and reflects that even for those who felt alone during combat (usually, in Faulkner’s case, in France), there is a world they can return to and feel some solace in. It may not be anything like what they just experienced, but it’s worth returning to Earth once in a while.
Another small detail that makes “All the Dead Pilots” a perfect way to finish “The Wasteland” is the original intended title. It was to be called “Per Ardua,” which is part of the R.A.F. motto “Per ardua ad astra” or “Through struggles to the stars.” In that way, it bookends the story that shares the other half, finding disconnection followed by a slow reconnection back to the bigger picture. Had the section just been these two stories, there’s a good chance that this would be Faulkner’s finest work. With everything else, it becomes more muddled but helps to add implicit emotional weight. Having been through war with these soldiers, there is self-reflection in the closing page that grows from having more ambiguous stories to share. Sartoris’ is obviously among the best, but that isn’t to deny the value of something like “Victory,” where an awkward boot camp leads to a fairly successful career. There are questions about what the military and noble acts ultimately mean, and I love that Faulkner isn’t as straightforward even as he seems reverent to the individual.
The story went through five rejections by popular magazines, including a submission to Saturday Evening Post. It is believed that the story existed by February 5, 1930. As mentioned, the events of Johnny Sartoris’ life are expanded upon with “Flags in the Dust” including the death of twin brother Bayard who receives a passing mention in Aunt Jenny’s letter. Overall, it is said that Faulkner wrote on a copy he sent to friends “This is the best one,” meaning that it was ultimately his favorite thing that he ever wrote. As a statement of what it means for the writer’s personal interest, it’s telling that it is both connecting the dots to his larger world while commenting on a lot of nostalgia and ambiguities that probably reflect his own connections to WWI. It’s quite possible that reading it reminds him of friends he lost in the war or who were permanently changed because of it. If nothing else, it reflects a level of optimism that is rarely expressed in his work, even amid the loss of loved ones. It creates its own valuable piece of history.
Also, it’s refreshing to be able to break down a story’s cast of characters and tie it to Yoknapatawpha’s rich population. To begin with, there is Johnny Sartoris. In “Collected Stories,” he’s already been featured in “Ad Astra” and whose military experience also extends to the novel “Flags in the Dust.” He would also appear in the novels “The Mansion” and “The Town.” There is also the servant Elnora Strother, who receives a passing reference here, that appears with him in “There Was a Queen.” Her young son also appears in these works as well as “Sanctuary.” Aunt Jenny also makes appearances in many of these works as well as “The Unvanquished” and “Requiem for a Nun.” Of the characters with the biggest connections is Grandfather Sartoris. According to The Digital Yoknapatawpha Project, he appears in 17 other works including the short story “A Rose for Emily” and an appearance in “The Reivers.” Overall, this is one of the better examples of how Faulkner uses family to reflect history and identity in his work.
Do I believe that “All the Dead Pilots” is his best work? What I’m finding is that he is a very meticulous writer who has done a lot of impressive work in building small moments. Thankfully, “The Wasteland” has been free of the typical novelty he usually throws in. However, I personally believe that “A Rose for Emily” is his irrefutable masterpiece, though I’m also a fan of “Barn Burning,” “A Bear Hunt,” and “Red Leaves.” Still, if one was to dilute his work down to the essentials, I would be happy to call this the best of his military tales, where he manages to convey so much within a limited space. It’s emotional, memorable, and full of colorful characters that best reflect his infatuation with The Lost Generation. They may have not all been great days, but there was an optimism and hope that unified them, a sense of duty that brought them together. It was frustrating, but it gave them purpose.
And with that, “The Wasteland” has finished its brief existence in “Collected Stories.” While I wouldn’t call Faulkner the greatest WWI writer in history, there is an affection he brings to his work that at least reflects dynamics and personality. It was entertaining to go through stories like “Turnabout” and find the dark comedy in bad management, or the sadness of sitting in a bar in “Ad Astra.” By the end, “All the Dead Pilots” felt like what each of those stories was working towards, perfectly reflecting all of these themes in a way that brought it home. War may feel disconnected from everything else in one’s life, but Faulkner found a way to reflect how it touches everyone in terms of geography and history. They may be dead, but they are far from forgotten.
Coming Up Next: “Wash”
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