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Writer's Way - Faulkner and the Honest Voice

Writer's Way

William Faulkner wrote daring, rich stories of the American South, with a facility and inventiveness with the English language that changed the way literature has been written ever since. Here Guest Writer M makes the case that Faulkner’s emotional honesty is a factor in the endurance of his popularity.

Please also check out our other Writer's Way pieces

William Faulkner, the unlikely favorite

Anyone who is familiar with my general dislike of literary fiction might be surprised to learn that my favorite author is William Faulkner.

This is simply because, firstly, beneath all that dense prose is a man laying himself bare; secondly, every word of that prose is unassailably honest; and thirdly, said prose is not poetry masquerading as storytelling.

This is all in stark contrast to the vast majority of literary writers I have read. Some of them ape Faulkner’s or similar styles, but without either the chops or the honesty to pull it off. The result is annoying at best, unintentionally humourous at worst.

Faulkner compared to Margaret Atwood

Even among those who don’t adopt that sort of style, I find that honesty is still generally lacking. I have, for example, never felt the slightest attachment to any of Margaret Atwood’s characters, and feel hard-pressed at the moment even to remember any of their names. To me, her novels have always read like reverse-engineered English papers, everything carefully in its place, almost as if awaiting their full flower as creations when finally subjected to analysis.

What we’re talking about here, of course, is emotional risk. I can tell, just from the reading, that Faulkner wrote until it hurt. I can tell that as he poured himself out in his own (then pioneering) language, he could care less if I found him silly. Reading his work is like meeting him for coffee, having him break down in helpless tears, and feeling yourself drawn to hold him - to feel that connection.

Faulkner and language

I can tell, just from the reading, that Margaret Atwood explicitly cares whether I find her silly; indeed, that she has a very vested interest in my not finding her silly. Yes, I’m aware that her work is influenced by the prevailing opinion of her generation of men that women were essentially silly and overemotional - something Faulkner hardly had to worry about.

Still, I somehow find it unacceptable as an excuse. She has put herself forth as an artist, yet she has never opened up to me, never made herself vulnerable to me - never once dared me to find her silly. As have so very, very few of the literary authors I have ever encountered. In most cases, their self-consciousness never quite seems to leave them.

On the whole, I find a lack of this brand of self-consciousness much more prevalent among non-literary authors. While Faulkner’s language was intrinsic to his creation, literary books as a whole often seem to be more about the language itself (afraid to stand alone as poetry?), in addition to the often directly-stated opinions of the Author (afraid to stand alone as essay?), than anything else; while non-literary books are more free to, well, tell a story.

Faulkner - the honest winner

But I’ll take honesty wherever I can get it. And I have found it: sometimes in literary fiction, sometimes in genres of all varieties; but nowhere more so than in Faulkner.

Although a heavy drinker, Faulkner apparently avoided alcohol when he was writing. His emotion, it would seem, was never dulled for that.

For that I thank him: his vulnerability has moved me and inspired me, and given me a distant benchmark for my own work. For his part, it gave him the Nobel Prize in Literature.

When Margaret Atwood wins that, I know things will either have gotten a lot better, or a lot worse, in the world of contemporary literature.

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