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.
When rereading “A Rose for Emily” for this column, I came across a moment that surprised me. For a story that’s buried with incredible subtext, the idea of Emily’s love interest being a closeted homosexual was not on my list. I hadn’t considered it until finding thorough research in preparation for the column. The allusions returned in “A Justice” were a manly competition that found two characters staring longingly into each other’s eyes. I don’t believe that I ever considered Faulkner to be an author exploring sexuality in any meaningful way, but that was before I came across “Divorce in Naples,” the penultimate story in “Collected Stories” and the one who has had many articles written about as being his most overtly gay story. Suddenly the floodgates were open and what I had assumed was coincidental now made more sense.
As covered before, Faulkner has been married twice. While this doesn’t mean he couldn’t have queer tendencies, it did make me veer from that read throughout his many historical diatribes. Sure, there’s something homoerotic about masculine dominance, but it only explains so much. The choice to make these characters sailors only helps to clear up the mystery. Without having to overtly state anything, readers who knew what to look for knew what this story was ultimately about. In one of his most explicitly sexual in a general sense, it’s interesting that he lays it on thick. The choice for one of the gay men to have sex with a woman is seen as an act of betrayal, even if it's more socially acceptable.
To be completely honest, I am by no means expert enough on Faulkner to diagnose a full opinion. I do know that he comes from an era that produced authors like James Joyce and Ernest Hemmingway that were in some ways exploring sexuality (Joyce more explicitly in his work). Doing brief research for this piece, I’m realizing that it’s easy to spot the coded language in other works such as the novel “The Sound and the Fury” or “Mosquitoes.” With limited exceptions, he has been curious about the exploration of male sexuality and has used it in slight ways to better understand parts of society that were as maligned as his more prominent racial and religious subjects. I think a big difference is that the expectation to ridicule and trivialize queerness isn’t as prominent.
Sure, “Divorce in Naples” doesn’t exactly end with the happy ending that one would like, but an affair that emotionally devastates the leads. Even then, Faulkner is giving more tenderness to them than I would imagine writers before The Mid-20th Century. This is so evident that Phillip Andrew Gordon from the University of Mississippi would write a dissertation called “Gay Faulkner: Uncovering a Homosexual Presence in Yoknapatawpha and Beyond” that runs 545 pages.
Before diving further into “Divorce in Naples” it feels right to expand on its influence. It is said that he was friends with gay creators such as Stark Young, Ben Wasson, William Alexander Percy, and Lyle Saxon. It has also been argued that he grew up during an interesting time in Mississippi where people were more open to exploring the limits of sexuality and thus inspired a more open-minded generation of writers. Given that he also was a curious explorer, it is likely that other places inspired him to embrace a more fluid vision of humanity.
With that said, “Divorce in Naples” is said to have been inspired by Faulkner’s time with a man named William Spratling. Described as a “down-on-his-knees New Orleans fairy,” the duo met while sailing to Europe on the West Ivis in 1925. They celebrated their arrival by driving with the ship’s officers. However, the drinking turned into a brawl with “pimps and prostitutes.” Spratling was arrested in an Italian prison for a “homosexual encounter” with rape being implied. To go further, Faulkner would claim that he was jealous of Spratling. While that’s not a direct admission of anything regarding closeted sexuality, it does make sense that he was a much more open-minded person who was capable of that persuasion. His writing often discussed it in an ambivalent and veiled manner, suggesting that it was in keeping with the times but also might hide any shame around being a Friend of Dorothy. With that said, coincidence or not, the choice to make this a story following the lives of two sailors is stereotypically gay before it gets too far along.
In keeping with “Mistral,” Faulkner returns to Italy for a very different reason this time. In the previous story, he was curious about understanding fascism. In this one, he uses George and Carl to explore a relationship that cannot be. There’s even discussion of men and women having a different language, like Americans visiting Italy. There’s a cultural difference that separates them from easy accessibility. All they can do is admire from afar, turning to the shore in hopes of finding some greater meaning. They have been alone at sea together, so of course, they will express a certain intimacy that, platonic or not, would make them trust each other on a deeper level. As anyone who has been in close quarters with each other for long enough, there’s a sense of connection that wouldn’t exist with more distractions.
What’s impressive about this story is that whereas there’s something guarded about Faulkner’s other relationships, this one is very observant and admiring. There’s consistent amorous behavior, such as the removal of clothes. I would argue even unintentionally that the use of “seamen” in the opening paragraph creates this implicit connection between the men. They may never overtly have sex in the story, but there’s so much passion and desire in their decisions. There is a connection that is difficult to fight against.
And yet, there is that urge to be seen as “normal” by a social sense. Perceiving women as a different language allows Faulkner to ponder if there’s any way of truly understanding those differences. They can’t speak the same language, and it results in them wandering this new city a bit lost. How could they not lose trust for each other? They dance together in a beautiful moment that finds them at their most vulnerable, leaning on each other for support. Sure, this is far from the stereotype of the effeminate, but it does show an interesting conflict of the gay man who must be strong and selective of how they express themselves. If they say the wrong thing, what’s to stop them from being arrested? In that way, “Divorce in Naples” is a perfect companion piece to “Mistral” and helps create a sense of how identity and being one’s true self can be a scary thing.
Even the closing sentence in which he refers to “pink silk teddybears that ladies use” can suggest an interesting array of things. With George and Carl at a relationship crossroads, there is a sense of “divorce” between them. This move could be a sign of simply giving a woman a gift of gratitude, or it’s an effort to reflect a queer sensibility that has been forced to be hidden. Given the homosexual themes throughout the rest of the story, it’s easy to assume both ways and have them be tragic. There is either a repression of identity or a loss that forces them into a conventional and sad marriage that won’t fulfill them on a deeply personal note.
With all of this said, what is Faulkner’s point of including this? Having also appeared in “These 13,” this story clearly means a lot to him and could hold deeper significance for its placement. As stated, I do think the ordering with “Mistral” is key to understanding another subtext of isolation within it. However, I am unsure what is gained by making it a penultimate story. Maybe it’s like it’s buried in the back of the text, there for readers diligent enough to read every story. Maybe it’s just how he conceived of the outline, where he had nowhere else to put it. Even then, I do imagine there’s more implicit queerness to be found throughout “Collected Stories,” but this is evidence that we maybe missed something along the way if we weren’t looking.
Coming into the penultimate story, I am impressed that there’s still a lot to learn about Faulkner both creatively and personally. I’ll admit that as tedious as some sections have been, it has done a great job of creating a subtextual biography of an author. He is someone who wrote about the subjects that interested him. Given that the “Wastelands” section was autobiographical and personal, it makes sense that another militaristic story would hold some further truths. The question of how true it remains cryptic. I will say that I still like it even if this feels like one of his slighter stories. It’s exciting to see him explore sexuality of any kind with a fervent prose that feels alive with purpose, though I’d have to wonder what he’d have been like if he was allowed to be more direct with his intentions. Or, maybe those wouldn’t matter at all.
Whatever the case may be, “Divorce in Naples” is another fun wrinkle in “Collected Anthologies.” By this point, it would be easy for him to continually play the hits and give us more Yoknapatawpha lore. Instead, he’s continually questioning the morality of the world in these allegorical manners. I love that he remains curious and pulls from his life to make art that speaks to him. Not only that, but it turns an author who might’ve seemed boring if you just read “A Rose for Emily” or “Barn Burning” and turn him into something more familiar. Maybe he’s not the best queer author of the 20th century, but it shows that even before the modern age, these themes were rampant in fiction. It’s a relief if just to know that it’s a subject many have been thinking about for centuries, trying to make sense of what it means to be human in all of their wondrous flaws.
Coming Up Next: “Carcassone”
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