Tuesday, May 14, 2013
Here we go again. Me and Nina going at it on a William Faulkner sentence. We just might be the geekiest sentence lovers....ever!
My opening salvo:
Faulkner's As I lay Dying is a trove a beautiful and interesting sentences. His syntax confounds! There is so much to choose from so I thought I'd go out on a limb and try to explicate this (Forgive me Mr. Faulkner):
"Cash's face is also gravely composed; he and I look at one another with long probing looks, looks that plunge unimpeded through one another's eyes and into the ultimate secret place where for an instant Cash and Darl crouch flagrant and unabashed in all the old terror and the old foreboding, alert and secret and without shame."
What jumps out at me are the following: Repetition, anadiplosis, polysendeton.
The sentence begins with a subject complement. The phrase "gravely composed," following the "to be" verb form "is" defines the possessive noun "face." Faulkner could have switched the phrases and written, "Gravely composed is Cash's face," but doing so creates a terrible omission of the word "also" (such a little adverb), which establishes a time relation. I suppose he could have interjected "also" into the phrase, but doing so would create an odd construction, and strange rhythm: "Gravely composed is also Cash's face" just doesn't sound right. So kudos to Mr. Faulkner for his sense of rhythm and melody. anyway, such an omission would also (pun intended) defeat the sentence of its relational significance, for example, the narrator, in this section Darl, wants to show that Cash is not the picture of strength but of hidden anxiety. So, "also" does some real work here.
I love the anadiplosis, "...looks, looks..." because it reveals the difference between reality and appearance to Darl. So much of this book is about seeing, looking, perceiving, being perceived, that repeating the word mid-sentence, also points to the idea that in the middle of their journey (taking Addie Bundren's dead body across the county to bury her), it is perception of truth that Darl calls into question. The verb "plunge" resonates with me; it foreshadows the plunge into the river where the family lose their mules.
Interesting to note how Darl, the narrator, becomes perceived as well; his very existence is thrust into the 3rd person where he views himself from outside: "Cash and Darl crouch flagrant and unabashed..." The sentence concludes with several repetitions of the word "old" and the conjunction "and" linking abstract ideas. The past is ever present. One cannot escape their heritage, their genealogy, class status, etc. Faulkner doesn't have to say this: he shows it through the word "old." What economy!!
I count, after that second "look," no less than six "ands." Hooray for polysendeton, one of my favorite schemes. What polysyndeton (and I love saying the word) does is create a sense of linked harmony between "looks, eyes, secrets, Cash, Darl ,flagrant, unabashed, old, terror, foreboding, alert, secret, shame," a seemingly incongruous list that upon closer scrutiny reveal the deep state of Darl's mind. The sentence that follows this, a short one, "When we speak our voices are quiet, detached" has been earned by the previous one. And I suppose that is what this long sentence does for me: it helps establish emotion, psychology, while showing theme; it earns or proves the right for Darl's and Cash's voice to be "quiet, detached."
There is so much more to be said.
And Nina's response:
If this is nerdy, so be it.
What I love about this sentence is how it mimics what is happening to Cash and Darl. It opens with a base clause, and then, after the semi-colon, another base clause, “he and I look…” and then Faulkner does what he does so well, he begins to nest modifiers, modifying the looks between Darl and Cash, how they plunge into the secret place, and in that place (I feel the look burrowing in) they are, together, crouched in all the old terror and foreboding, alert and secret and without shame. So the sentence burrows through modifiers just as they are burrowing into each other.
I also really like the rhythms here—listen to the hard and soft stresses: “he and I look at one another with long probing looks...” the “long probing looks” are three hard stresses (with that soft stress associated with ‘ing’). And with those stresses, especially with ‘probing’ and the long ‘o,’ I slow way down in this sentence and look with them. Cool!
The soft stresses here, “for an instant,” and the sentence picks up speed to find the two of them crouched in this ultimate secret place. You noted “plunge,” but he also uses “flagrant”—burning, fiery hot, and also flouting of a law or morality, and soon in the story the barn will burn and the body will stink. So here, we have, just like plunge, the weaving in of words that direct us to theme.
You mentioned ‘also,’ how necessary it was for rhythm and melody. “Also” is nice assonance with “composed”—that long ‘o’ sound. Using “also” sets up a pattern of rhythm— “Cash’s face,” a hard stress and a soft stress, which is echoed with “also,” which is a hard stress and a soft. There’s also assonance with ‘face/gravely’ and ‘plunge/unimpeded/one/another.’ Why note all this? It creates rhythm and music to the ear.
At the end of the sentence, all those long ‘o’s’ at the end also slow me down- “old/old/foreboding” so I sit, finally, with those two in the secret place feeling the foreboding and the terror, without shame. Those hard stresses at the end ‘without shame’ (out/shame), make it sound like an act of defiance, as if they are shouting they will feel no shame, don’t make them feel it, because they won’t abide.
Thursday, May 2, 2013
Here we are discussing a Walker Percy sentence from The Moviegoer.
So the collection of stunning sentences grows with this, a beastly gem I found in Walker Percy's novel The Moviegoer. It's a little (a lot?) long, but I think the sentence bears real fruit upon conclusion. I thought to stay away from an explication of tropes and sentence type, etc. thinking you might have more meaningful things to say on the subject. So here goes...
"Some years later, after Scott's death, we came my father and I to the Field Museum, a long dismal peristyle dwindling away into the howling distance, and inside stood before a tableau of Stone Age man, father mother and child crouched around an artificial ember in postures of minatory quiet--until, feeling my father's eye on me, I turned and saw what he required of me--very special father and son we were that summer, he staking his everything this time on a perfect comradeship--and I, seeing in his eyes the terrible request, requiring from me his very life; I, through a child's cool perversity or some atavistic recoil from an intimacy too intimate, turned him down, turned away, refused him what I knew I could not give."
There's a lot going on here all of which flows from the tension between father and son. For purposes of explication it isn't necessary to discuss Scott except to understand that his death meant something to both of them.
Situated in the narrator Binx Bolling's memory of his father, this sentence/paragraph has enough abstractness and just the right sprinkling of detail to convince readers that Binx has fully processed the experience. Percy focuses not on the minutiae of visiting the Field Museum, revealing colors, sights, sounds, textures, smells, but pleading gesture for "comradeship" his father makes, one which Binx rejects.
The sentence begins in indeterminate time "Some years later," employing the plural pronoun "we" to suggest togetherness (albeit a forced one), which Percy then parses out as "my father and I" to suggest, even at the heart of this memory, a separateness. The Field Museum is described only as "a long peristyle dwindling away into the howling distance," which I think is extremely apt considering Binx's memory of this event, for a peristyle is a row of columns, individual columns, ordered like a colonnade, and yet Percy describes them as if receding into "the howling distance." Through understatement, Percy suggests that the past also howls at Binx, forcing him to address unresolved issues.
Father and son find themselves before "a tableau of Stone Age Man," reinforcing this idea of the past "howling" into the present. Like the past, father and son look upon a family frozen in time, thus reinforcing this idea of a false "we," for the family are statues, unable to see or feel or touch one another. Interesting how he omits the comma between "father mother" then employs a conjunction between "mother and child." A subtle hint into the family dynamic? a typo? Given Percy's meticulous attention to syntax and grammar, I think the former. He means to show by punctuation how the adult world (with its gestures and actions, rules and codes and mores, habits and customs and attentions, etc.) is incommunicable to a child's world.
Percy positions the Stone Age family in "postures of minatory quiet" suggesting a nascent threat of some sort, and that threat seems to push through this forced ritualized domesticity and enters the realm of the present. Binx feels his father's eye on him and it ravels something inside: In that expression, unstated by Percy which we receive only by suggestion (feigned comradeship, friendship, a requirement of absolution perhaps), which feel potent as venom. The serum? Rejection. Remember in the beginning of the sentence how Percy has them arriving, "we came my father and I..." so now he has Binx leaving, emotionally and psychologically. It's a great way to show movement. Binx cannot accept his father nor the desperation he feels his father wields, so by ending with rejection it creates a sort of trajectory for Binx.
This sentence/paragraph summarizes a great many themes of the book, madness, love, art, the past, acceptance/rejection, freedom and responsibility, coming of age.
It's really a wonderful look at crafting stunning sentences that serve not only to show what happened, but also how, when and where, and ultimately why.
PS Apologizing in advance for my typos and muddy thinking :)
AND HER BRILLIANT RESPONSE:
You've found another great sentence!
A qualifier: I have not read this novel, so it will be interesting to see what this sentence reveals (at least to me) and how it captures the story as a whole.
A left branching sentence, which opens with two phrases, "Some years later," "after Scott's death," and then we come to the beginning of the base clause. With this left branching, periodic sentence, the narrator exhibits control over the memory, which suggests this is a retrospective narrator--an older man recalling this occasion, this summer with his father.
I, too, was struck by the way the syntax interrupted here: "we came my father and I"--the modifier "my father and I" (an appositive that amplifies the word "we") is place out of order. Traditionally, it would be: "we, my father and I, came..." It's also interesting that it is not offset by commas. I like your interpretation of this--how first there is a unification of the narrator with his father, but then, on second thought, the narrator feels the need (and the ending shows us why) to separate. That is doesn't come immediately after the "we" draws even more attention to itself.
Two compelling images here: the Field Museum and the tableau. The museum is home to history, the artifacts of the past. The father and son are entering the world of the past. He personifies the past with the phrase, "the howling distance." Yes, the past, this memory, is howling in this older narrator's mind. It's calling him back to remember. This is the language of the adult narrator, with the words "peristyle," and "dwindling." The tableau, as you note, is time frozen in stone. The narrator slips in "artificial" which suggests the way he looks at this domestic scene of father mother and child, but even more telling in the adjective, "minatory," which means threatening or menacing. The narrator is revealing so much of his state of mind, as it pertains to family, domesticity, the past. What also struck me is how this entire sentence (yes, one sentence! extended through the em dash and the semi-colon, is like that tableau--a solid mass of the past).
A second independent clause begins "I turned and saw..." I heard the young narrator's voice slip in with the words, "very special father and son," --that hyperbolic and ironic tone," and "he staking his everything"--again, a hyperbolic turn of phrase, indicating youth. He repeats "required," which appears again as "requiring," By repeating the word, the reader senses that it is the requirements of his father, his history, his legacy from which he'll turn and reject.
By modifying "recoil," with the word "atavistic," we are sent, once again, to the past. Atavistic--a throwback recurrence in an organism or part of an organism of a form typical of ancestors more remote than parents. Ironic, then, that the narrator will reject his father, yet succumb, perhaps to some other inheritance from the past. The sentence reaches a higher emotional pitch with the use of anaphora at the end, "turned him down, turned away," (the repetition of "turned").