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.
At long last, we have reached the closing stretch of “Collected Stories.” Even among an impressive diversity, there’s little that feels comparable to what starts off the “Beyond” section. While “The Middle Grounds” did a great job of expanding the potential of a Faulkner story, they were still stories that took place on this mortal coil. It was a thematic reach that suggested there was magic in the every day, even expanding his underlying spirituality to greater heights. While there’s moments where he correlates southern tradition to the bible, like in “Wash,” there are few that feel as indebted to the great unknown quite like “Beyond.” While the subject at the center may not be entirely similar, the fear of life after death run rampant through “Pennsylvania Station” and this opening entry that takes things to a new level. If “Pennsylvania Station” was an allusion, “Beyond” is full on philosophical discourse.
There is something curious about reading this story for the first time and having the opening image be a stethoscope. Without context, I was quick to think that this was a doctor’s office where everyone was having health check-ups. It made the most sense, even if things slowly turned into more suspicious motivations. It could be Mothershed admitting to committing suicide or another party almost running over a child, but suddenly this simple story of checking up on your health became a moral debate about what constitutes the afterlife. Faulkner is wise to keep everything ambiguous, making this not a religious form of purgatory. If anything, “Beyond” defines itself by the protagonist “The Judge” Howard Allison and his sense of agnosticism. To summarize, it’s the idea of not believing in God until proof is provided. It’s a fair way to look at a judge, who must be unbiased in their decision-making. One would assume that because he’s determining things in the afterlife/beyond, notably around who gets into heaven that he has an even more difficult job to make.
As a result, this does come across as a very unique take on the courtroom drama. What starts as watching life fold into death becomes a commentary on the decisions we make in life. Taking away the supernatural subtext, this continues Faulkner’s trend of exploring morality and who holds onto the values. The only difference is that where he sometimes focuses on the tragedies of loss, like “A Rose for Emily,” here he is looking at it from the other perspective. A child’s death is another symbol of how the future is being held in a chokehold, unable to become something independent. Everything refuses to grow, and it’s evident that his untimely death brings with it an understanding of how certain values are destroyed, unable to fully take root in culture. It’s the death of innocence and an inability to ever appreciate conventional happiness. Usually, that’s been portrayed throughout “Collected Stories” via Yoknapatawpha’s reconstruction, but here does in ways that the writer hasn’t focused on before. Well, not directly. It’s usually about the impregnation of a woman and not the child itself. Now, it’s taken to its most literal end.
Another thing to consider in all of this is the presence of racism. Faulkner has always been keen on making sure to include scenes depicting the struggles of interpersonal relationships in the south. In this case, he throws them into background roles, having people yell slurs at them to leave in order to keep a sense of peace. While he doesn’t directly discuss it, there’s a good chance that a lot of these scenes are reflective of acts seen in “Dry Leaves” such as lynching. There is a need to make the sins of life mean something greater now. Do those who suffer at the hands of bigotry deserve a greater reward in the beyond? While not fully addressed, it does feel like this courtroom drama is suggesting that there’s going to be a lot of debate around certain morality and ethics.
This makes it interesting that The Judge exists briefly within these pages as someone overlooking everything. Does he have his own biases? Again, Faulkner paints The Judge as agnostic, a sweet little touch given that he’s a step away from the author’s vision of heaven. There’s plenty of reason to think that he would have the belief instilled in him already but doesn’t. With all of this said, it is reflective of the author’s own experience with agnostic writers, personally citing them as a major influence over the story’s direction. Then again, one can argue from the very beginning in stories like “Shingles for the Lord” that Faulkner has been ambiguous on whether there’s a God or if we’re all a tad delusional, using faith as a way to stay sane. Does The Judge’s job even matter?
At the center of this story is maybe one of the most horrific stories presented in “Collected Stories” so far. In all of the cruelty on display, there is nothing as shocking as the death of a child. To make matters bleaker, it’s the story of The Judge’s son, also named Howard Allison or “Junior.” What makes this particularly effective is how Faulkner delicately discusses the abuse through an emotional lens, never really exploiting the abuse in a manner that is exploitative even in its fiction. Among a story that includes suicide and car accidents, this act of lacerating a child, let alone his own, makes one wonder why anyone would assault a child like this. Each new paragraph is difficult to read and it makes the revelations more anticipatory.
It helps that Junior’s selling point is a photograph of him in more innocent years. In the said photo, he is seen riding a horse, which he did constantly. This image is one that works at showing the character as someone full of life, willing to travel and give in to curiosity. There’s no denying that it used to bring warm feelings. Now it’s likely the bittersweet reality, the contraction at the end of the sentence. He was sweet, BUT his life came to an end all too soon.
Another interesting angle is the use of Mothershed. Their perspective is that of a nihilist, or someone who is more likely to see the worst in everything. They committed suicide, so it’s easy to see them as accepting the punishment for what it is, that it’s just how things go. Alas, Faulkner dedicates a decent amount of time to Mothershed and The Judge discussing philosophy, trying to find moral precedent in this situation. Whereas one is overtly sympathetic, the other is more methodical, thinking that everything happens for a reason. One embraces the unknown while the other sits on the fence. What are they to do about Junior?
Ultimately, the story ends with one last cry. The stethoscope pressed to Junior’s chest, they watch the life escape his body on earth. It’s maybe Faulkner’s most emotional and tender writing in the whole book. With symbolism from flowers and the act of breathing surrounding the final paragraph, there is something terrifying about those sentences. It’s the feeling of watching a child meet their fate prematurely, that there’s nothing they can do. It’s a gut punch that ranks among the author’s best work. Having it fold into the courtroom drama setting with a “gentlemen you may proceed,” it suddenly becomes clear that nobody can outrun death. More importantly, life goes on and as painful as that is, it leaves some wounds that cannot heal. Be glad the photo exists to at least remind you of that potential.
Unlike other stories, what’s interesting about “Beyond” is that there is an actual origin point for it. Most of Faulkner’s work is best interpreted as being derived from his work whereas here we are able to get personal testimony as to why he chose it. It is said that his wife’s step-grandfather was a Republican federal judge in a primarily Democratic community. He was an outspoken agnostic. His in-laws, The Oldhams, lost their son. Along with both character and influence dying at the same age, he used the real epitaph for Junior’s gravestone. He called this “a tour de force in esoteria,” and it’s hard to argue against it. There was clearly some effort to understand the child’s passing through a lens that made sense, and it produced one of his most meditative and thought-inducing projects.
He also suggested that: "The agnostic progresses far enough into heaven to find one whom his intelligence, if not his logic, could accept as Christ, and who even offers him an actual sight and meeting with his dead son in exchange for the surrender of his logic, agnosticism. But he naturally and humanly prefers the sorrow with which he has lived so long that it not only does not hurt anymore, but is perhaps even a pleasure, to the uncertainty of change, even when it means that he may gain his son again."
The story was originally called “Beyond the Gate” and was written in April 1930. It would eventually be rejected by The Saturday Evening Post. He would shorten it to “Beyond” when it would be published in Harper’s in 1933. There was an unpublished version of the story which never was released, though it would appear frequently throughout his career, including in the collections “Doctor Martino” and “Collected Stories.” Despite the editor Robert Haas not wanting the story published, it was clear that Faulkner did, thus making it the entry point of the “Beyond” section.
Even for a story that lacks greater connective tissue to Yoknapatawpha County, Faulkner cleverly finds small details to fit it into the frame. For starters, the idea of the beyond would also be featured in the novel “Absalom, Absalom!” Also, the doctor with the stethoscope, Lucius Peabody would also have a few more noteworthy appearances in the novels “As I Lay Dying,” “The Sound and the Fury,” and “The Reivers” among others. While everything else doesn’t make an appearance, thematically it all remains true to Faulkner’s greater vision.
For an entry point into this section, “Beyond” manages to be one of the author’s greatest works. There’s an emotional wallop at the center that is benefitted from the author’s personal experience. Even with some debate around agnosticism and nihilism, there is something clever and profound about how he writes this equation. How does one process grief and what are the moral values around life? The results from beginning to end are perfectly laid out, finding a vulnerable perspective unlike anything that he’s done before. He’s discussed death and cultural stagnation before, but rarely with this much sensitivity. It’s the perfect start to a section that looks to push things beyond what we’ve seen before, or at least let’s hope so.
Coming Up Next: “Black Music”
Comments
Post a Comment