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.
After “Artist at Home” found “The Middle Ground” section getting a much needed boost of quality, it’s refreshing to see “The Brooch” serve as a great reminder of Faulkner’s talent. It could just be that it finds the author returning to some familiar tropes, but it’s also the most grounded characters he’s featured since “Dr. Martino” and one of his most narratively satisfying since “Wash.” What is here is another tale of Southern Gothic family dysfunction, and he does so with the familiar imagery of a dying mother and the son who wants nothing but to escape her control. Having escaped the Fauntleroy clothing that infantilized him as a child, this son of a runaway father has finally gotten his chance to become his own man, so long as he can get everything he wants from his mother in the most heartless ways possible.
Meet Howard Boyd, who is about to have his life turned upside down. After decades of embarrassment, he has officially found his out. Upon stumbling into his mother, Mrs. Boyd’s, room, he finds her sitting upright. It’s a detail that’s repeated several times and could reflect the stasis of her existence. This is her house and she has grown comfortable with the idea of dying here. Everything is hers and, much like “A Rose for Emily,” this is watching intergenerational struggles over wealth and possession as well as the patented Faulkner motif of trying to control what ideals are taken into the future. Usually, it’s about who gets to have a fertile young woman, but here it’s about getting rid of the shameful past that one is codependent on. Even if Howard is married to Amy and expecting a bright future, the result is that they’re stuck with her until the bitter end.
Among the heirlooms given to Amy is the titular brooch, which is something that attaches itself to clothing and thus continues the motif of latching onto something. It’s stylish and has intrinsic value, but maybe serves as a decoy to Howard’s greater wants. When Amy wears it, there’s a sense of wealth and purpose to it. There’s that respect he’s after. She wears it across her bosom where Mrs. Boyd can see, making it clear that she is in some ways replacing her. This is made most clear in the perverse turn of phrase where Howard asks to call Amy “Mommy.” Given his infantilization over the opening pages, it feels like yet another form of attachment, this time replacing her mother with a younger woman who is, among other things, limber.
The cliche with Faulkner has always been the way that women symbolize how they hold the potential for the future. So many of these stories exist as tragic stories of women being forced to give birth to a generation that holds onto Confederate worldviews. While there’s little to suggest that this is true of “The Brooch,” it’s evident that Howard is wanting Amy to be Mrs. Boyd in more ways than one. There is a need to hold a certain role in his life, and in some way act out perverse fantasies that he’s had for her. Maybe this is sexual or just other forms of power, but still Amy is stuck in a position that is unpleasant and reflects her own lack of agency in this arc. While she isn’t stuck in a bed, there is a sense that she’s about to perpetuate this man’s legacy of delusional behavior and attachment to a past.
It becomes clearest when Mrs. Boyd has a stroke. It more than confirms the potential that she is about to die. However, she isn’t there just yet. So long as she is alive, she holds the power. The irony doesn’t escape Faulkner, as he reflects on the stagnation of being stuck in the past alongside the potential waste of a relationship the other Boyds are having. Nobody is moving forward in their lives which leaves many to wonder why Howard didn’t find any other ways to move forward and become independent. Instead, he’s waiting for her death, wasting so much of his life waiting for the profits to come in, and he’s dragged poor Amy into this.
The finale is what one could expect for a story of Howard wanting to get it over with. The stroke isn’t fatal enough, but his ability to murder her means that he can finally put that grudge to rest. Of course, it comes across as the most deranged, homicidal ending possible and nobody would expect differently. “The Brooch” is a symbol of the wealth to come, of holding onto values that are only there financially. His inability to have his own means when that time comes reflects his own codependence on a past that he resents but needs in order to survive.
That is another thing that makes “The Brooch” such a fascinating case study. Howard is one of the more despicable archetypes that Faulkner has created. Whereas one can look at other men in his work and often see their agency, there isn’t much here. He is merely existing. Unlike “A Rose for Emily,” Howard has no excuse for his imprisonment. He has brought this on himself in a house that has all of the delicious hallmarks of stagnation. Even the clock’s face is described as not working, as if time has stood still and causing a deeper level of madness. As much as one can wonder why Amy hasn’t done much with her life, the lack of agency she has socially at the time could at least suggest the pitfalls of toxic masculinity in The American South.
It's the type of story that makes excellent commentary on what the reader decides is valuable. Is it better to put self-worth ahead of things like history and social standings? Does being mistreated give someone the right to abuse the next generation and leave them ultimately helpless? The answer is a resounding no, but of course, it’s what’s appealing to Faulkner’s view of history. This is a small corner of corruption, and one that has a certain morbidity that only adds to the tragedy of this whole perspective. It’s one of the saddest works he’s produced, and also one of his more mesmerizing.
That is why it’s curious why the story has largely become a hidden gem in his greater career. While it doesn’t hit the highs of “Barn Burning,” it does have enough quality present to be ranked among his best. Given that it was published in 1935 and originally written in 1931, there’s something to be said for how latching onto an idea has ultimately done him good. He has managed to explore every corner, and having now added male impotence in the mix shows the downside of not having a functional family and thus a lingering problem in society.
While there’s not a lot of information to be shared about “The Brooch” due to its obscurity, I did find one that details Faulkner’s time with Lux Video Theatre. Written by William Furry, it explores his effort to discover a piece of lost media. While Faulkner had written many things for Hollywood, there was something interesting about the works he chose to adapt for this hour-long teleplay. Along with “Shall Not Perish,” he turned “The Brooch” into a play that made some noteworthy changes to be more TV friendly. Given how much early media tends to be destroyed or missing, it makes sense that they’re difficult to track down. Even then, for a writer whose work is generally acclaimed, one has to wonder just what drew him to make those stories into plays initially. Could it just be that they were rich in character drama not unlike Tennessee Williams? It’s hard to really know without confirmation.
“The Brooch” is one of the better stories that Faulkner has written in “The Middle Grounds” section of “Collected Stories.” While it continues to exist in the moral ambiguity that gives these works connective tissue, it manages to be something greater by noticing what the author does best and running with ideas that are both humanistic but also spiritual. The results are an engrossing, often tragic view of what happens when a life is unlived and their worth isn’t measured by accomplishment but by acquirements. The results are excellently covered with a brisk pacing and a shocking ending that leaves plenty of provocation for the reader. It’s the type of work he excels at, and leaves the reader feeling a bit dazed for having done so.
Coming Up Next: “Grandmother Millard"
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