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William Faulkner: The Man and the Artist: A Biography
Based on Faulkner collections at two universities, a previously unexamined private collection, and interviews with Faulkner's associates, this biography profiles the often contradictory personality of the famed Southern author
Hardcover
First published October 1, 1987
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About the author
Stephen B. Oates
42 books64 followersAn expert on 18th century U.S. history, Stephen B. Oates was professor of history at the University of Massachusetts Amherst, where he taught from 1969 until his retirement in 1997. Oates received his BA (1958), MA (1960), and Ph.D. (1969) from the University of Texas.
Oates wrote 16 books during his career, including biographies of Martin Luther King, Jr., Abraham Lincoln, Clara Barton, and John Brown, and an account of Nat Turner's slave rebellion. His Portrait of America, a compilation of essays about United States history, is widely used in advanced high school and undergraduate university American history courses. His two "Voices of the Storm" books are compilations of monologues of key individuals in events leading up to and during the American Civil War. He also appeared in the well-known Ken Burns PBS documentary on the war.
Oates received the Nevins-Freeman Award of the Chicago Civil War Round Table for his historical work on the American Civil War.
Oates wrote 16 books during his career, including biographies of Martin Luther King, Jr., Abraham Lincoln, Clara Barton, and John Brown, and an account of Nat Turner's slave rebellion. His Portrait of America, a compilation of essays about United States history, is widely used in advanced high school and undergraduate university American history courses. His two "Voices of the Storm" books are compilations of monologues of key individuals in events leading up to and during the American Civil War. He also appeared in the well-known Ken Burns PBS documentary on the war.
Oates received the Nevins-Freeman Award of the Chicago Civil War Round Table for his historical work on the American Civil War.
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Displaying 1 - 14 of 14 reviews
August 2, 2010
Thanks to the mystery gr librarian who fixed the cover pic for me!
He must teach himself that the basest of all things is to be afraid; and, teaching himself that, forget it forever, leaving no room in his workshop for anything but the old verities and truths of the heart, the old universal truths lacking which any story is ephemeral and doomed - love and honor and pity and pride and compassion and sacrifice. Until he does so, he labors under a curse. He writes not of love but of lust, of defeats in which nobody loses anything of value, of victories without hope and, worst of all, without pity or compassion. His griefs grieve on no universal bones, leaving no scars. He writes not of the heart but of the glands.
-Excerpt from William Faulkners’ 1950 Nobel Prize acceptance speech where he addresses the plight of young writers in the nuclear age
A bad habit that I’ve never managed to completely break is that I often overlook the underlying humanity of writers who are long gone and firmly canonized. The misconception that occurs in my mind is that these people sprang from the womb fully formed, ready for a back cover photo wearing a tweed jacket, pipe in hand, with a properly pensive expression denoting a much deeper understanding of human truths than the rest of us. It would carry forth logically that such writers get some sort of divine exemption from everyday human minutiae as it is hard to imagine them standing in line at the DMV or wondering what the hell a good pineapple should look like as their cart is double parked in the produce section. Books such as this help me to overcome these perceptions.
The sum of William Faulkners’ early years would suggest someone who was the least likely to become one of the greatest American novelists. He blew off school as quickly as he could get away with it, leaving with little more than a sixth grade education. He dabbled with poetry and drawing, but not in a way that would lead to a serious artistic career. He spun outrageous tales about his exploits in order to impress people in town. These often straddle the fence between outlandishly funny and pathetic. He dressed “like an artist” in getups that could only be described as some sort of Southern hobo/beatnik/dandy mash up. Obviously, none of this flew with the townsfolk of Oxford, MS and he became the town joke. Count No ‘Count was the name that they called him behind his back.
Something changed when he moved to New Orleans. Happening upon a friendship with Sherwood Anderson, Faulkner pondered the possibility of giving fiction a try and got exponentially better at it in a very short time. He was soon a published writer.
Although nearly every bookstore in America today has a well-stocked selection of Faulkner novels, poverty was the ax constantly hanging over his head throughout most of his career. His work didn’t appeal to the average readership of the day and quickly fell out of print. Nearly all of his most famous works were composed while he was slogging away at various manual labor jobs, or later on when he was imprisoned in the creative yoke of Hollywood scriptwriting after establishing himself as a minor name. Whenever he had money he spent it, and alcohol was already an ominous spectre in the background of his life. Perhaps these pressures drove him to his best work, as nothing that he wrote once he gained some semblance of recognition and affluence is as highly lauded today.
For a Southern man during that time period, Faulkner held an astonishingly progressive view of race relations. Unfortunately, his spoken ineloquence on the matter would cause him big problems from supporters on both sides of the issue. A few asides that he made regarding industrialization and his love of the land would also seem to make him a friend of the modern environmentalist movement.
As far as any shared affinities with the Feminist Movement…maybe not so much. While Faulkner remained married to his childhood friend and sweetheart Estelle throughout his life, their relationship evolved into one of liquor fueled dysfunctionality. Their combined alcohol consumption and ensuing yelling matches/marital fisticuffs make any eighties hair band with a VH1 Behind the Music episode look like tittering schoolmarms by comparison. This led to Faulkner chasing after a string of broken, younger women in some sort of disturbing attempt to play the roles of both father figure and lover. Obviously each time this only ended in heartbreak for him. I find it puzzling that the man whose insight brought forth The Sound and the Fury and Absalom! Absalom! would be plagued with such self-destructive ways, but I guess we are all better at dissecting the psyches and foibles of those around us than we are at dissecting our own.
I have drifted towards the negatives of Faulkners’ personality here, but this book also captures him in his most perfect, caring, moments as a member of the human race. Although his life was very tumultuous he tried as hard as he knew how and also managed to produce some soul-shaking literature during his time here. As Faulkner himself was so fond of saying “Between (feeling) nothing and grief, I will take grief.”
He must teach himself that the basest of all things is to be afraid; and, teaching himself that, forget it forever, leaving no room in his workshop for anything but the old verities and truths of the heart, the old universal truths lacking which any story is ephemeral and doomed - love and honor and pity and pride and compassion and sacrifice. Until he does so, he labors under a curse. He writes not of love but of lust, of defeats in which nobody loses anything of value, of victories without hope and, worst of all, without pity or compassion. His griefs grieve on no universal bones, leaving no scars. He writes not of the heart but of the glands.
-Excerpt from William Faulkners’ 1950 Nobel Prize acceptance speech where he addresses the plight of young writers in the nuclear age
A bad habit that I’ve never managed to completely break is that I often overlook the underlying humanity of writers who are long gone and firmly canonized. The misconception that occurs in my mind is that these people sprang from the womb fully formed, ready for a back cover photo wearing a tweed jacket, pipe in hand, with a properly pensive expression denoting a much deeper understanding of human truths than the rest of us. It would carry forth logically that such writers get some sort of divine exemption from everyday human minutiae as it is hard to imagine them standing in line at the DMV or wondering what the hell a good pineapple should look like as their cart is double parked in the produce section. Books such as this help me to overcome these perceptions.
The sum of William Faulkners’ early years would suggest someone who was the least likely to become one of the greatest American novelists. He blew off school as quickly as he could get away with it, leaving with little more than a sixth grade education. He dabbled with poetry and drawing, but not in a way that would lead to a serious artistic career. He spun outrageous tales about his exploits in order to impress people in town. These often straddle the fence between outlandishly funny and pathetic. He dressed “like an artist” in getups that could only be described as some sort of Southern hobo/beatnik/dandy mash up. Obviously, none of this flew with the townsfolk of Oxford, MS and he became the town joke. Count No ‘Count was the name that they called him behind his back.
Something changed when he moved to New Orleans. Happening upon a friendship with Sherwood Anderson, Faulkner pondered the possibility of giving fiction a try and got exponentially better at it in a very short time. He was soon a published writer.
Although nearly every bookstore in America today has a well-stocked selection of Faulkner novels, poverty was the ax constantly hanging over his head throughout most of his career. His work didn’t appeal to the average readership of the day and quickly fell out of print. Nearly all of his most famous works were composed while he was slogging away at various manual labor jobs, or later on when he was imprisoned in the creative yoke of Hollywood scriptwriting after establishing himself as a minor name. Whenever he had money he spent it, and alcohol was already an ominous spectre in the background of his life. Perhaps these pressures drove him to his best work, as nothing that he wrote once he gained some semblance of recognition and affluence is as highly lauded today.
For a Southern man during that time period, Faulkner held an astonishingly progressive view of race relations. Unfortunately, his spoken ineloquence on the matter would cause him big problems from supporters on both sides of the issue. A few asides that he made regarding industrialization and his love of the land would also seem to make him a friend of the modern environmentalist movement.
As far as any shared affinities with the Feminist Movement…maybe not so much. While Faulkner remained married to his childhood friend and sweetheart Estelle throughout his life, their relationship evolved into one of liquor fueled dysfunctionality. Their combined alcohol consumption and ensuing yelling matches/marital fisticuffs make any eighties hair band with a VH1 Behind the Music episode look like tittering schoolmarms by comparison. This led to Faulkner chasing after a string of broken, younger women in some sort of disturbing attempt to play the roles of both father figure and lover. Obviously each time this only ended in heartbreak for him. I find it puzzling that the man whose insight brought forth The Sound and the Fury and Absalom! Absalom! would be plagued with such self-destructive ways, but I guess we are all better at dissecting the psyches and foibles of those around us than we are at dissecting our own.
I have drifted towards the negatives of Faulkners’ personality here, but this book also captures him in his most perfect, caring, moments as a member of the human race. Although his life was very tumultuous he tried as hard as he knew how and also managed to produce some soul-shaking literature during his time here. As Faulkner himself was so fond of saying “Between (feeling) nothing and grief, I will take grief.”
August 25, 2012
This book is frustrating at times, not by the fault of its author, but
because Faulker was a frustrating man. Many times I found myself rolling my eyes, "No, Billy, not again! You are a grown man!"
It is interesting to know that one of America's most well-renowned novelists lived the majority of his life in a protracted phase of
adultolescence--drinking, falling down staircases, cheating on his wife with a woman half his age. But what irritated me most about Faulker was his inability to accept his fame and the attention brought by it. With the way he battered himself and abused those closest to him, one would think he had spent his life attempting unsuccessfully to get published.
The book is written, as the author explains in his introduction, using novelistic techniques, which drew me in and often made me forget that I was reading a biography. If you are a seasoned Faulkner reader, this book may frustrate you because, after all, we want our heroes to be innocents and underdogs. But it will ultimately deepen your interest in a man whose life was at times more complicated than some of his most challenging passages. If you have never read Faulker, this book may spark in you an interest in his work; you will want to know what all the fuss was about and you will want to see for yourself the products of a man who spent a significant portion of his time holed up, absent from his wife and children, hacking away at his craft, which cost him a great deal of grief.
This book is a work of literature that stands on its own merit.
because Faulker was a frustrating man. Many times I found myself rolling my eyes, "No, Billy, not again! You are a grown man!"
It is interesting to know that one of America's most well-renowned novelists lived the majority of his life in a protracted phase of
adultolescence--drinking, falling down staircases, cheating on his wife with a woman half his age. But what irritated me most about Faulker was his inability to accept his fame and the attention brought by it. With the way he battered himself and abused those closest to him, one would think he had spent his life attempting unsuccessfully to get published.
The book is written, as the author explains in his introduction, using novelistic techniques, which drew me in and often made me forget that I was reading a biography. If you are a seasoned Faulkner reader, this book may frustrate you because, after all, we want our heroes to be innocents and underdogs. But it will ultimately deepen your interest in a man whose life was at times more complicated than some of his most challenging passages. If you have never read Faulker, this book may spark in you an interest in his work; you will want to know what all the fuss was about and you will want to see for yourself the products of a man who spent a significant portion of his time holed up, absent from his wife and children, hacking away at his craft, which cost him a great deal of grief.
This book is a work of literature that stands on its own merit.
March 5, 2018
Flawed man. Strong sense for his own creative process, possible artistic psychosis. As many negative views as I could stand to glimpse made me like this figure more than I would have because I’m naturally contrarian and I’m more than willing to understand the vantage point that I’m given by a biographer and restrain myself from a hellishly judgemental view of a man who wrote great books and just happens to be in the position to have his life on display, the irony being that he never wanted to be understood for any more than his fictional creation.
February 25, 2019
Reading about Faulkner will, as one scholar says, "make you believe in genius." That or fate, as Faulkner himself seemed to believe: there's no reason anyone consuming that much whisky for so many years could or should be able to produce coherent thoughts, let alone the greatest artistic output of any single writer in American history.
The bio makes for good if depressing reading and will confirm for you that you probably should try a reread of "Sancturary" (ugh) and probably never need to give "Mosquitos" a try. Thanks, Stephen B Oats!
The bio makes for good if depressing reading and will confirm for you that you probably should try a reread of "Sancturary" (ugh) and probably never need to give "Mosquitos" a try. Thanks, Stephen B Oats!
August 11, 2012
There's a danger in learning too much about your heroes. The actor whose work you admire turns out to be a misogynistic, woman-beating jerk; the athlete who you've cheered for suddenly unleashes a radical, idiotic political tirade. And then there's Faulkner, who turns out to be an alcoholic lout, obnoxious and pretentious.
Truth be told, I already knew some of this about Faulkner, but the book sets it out in stark detail. As an example, if you removed every anecdote from the book that involves him getting so drunk that someone else has to put him to bed or take him to dry out in a hospital, you'd be left with little more than a pamphlet describing the plots of his major books.
But despite any moral repugnance engendered by The Man and The Artist, the book is a surprisingly good read. At times it can feel a little repetitive, due in most part to Faulkner's ceaseless wishy-washy circling back to themes of self-doubt, alcoholism, and money woes. Yet at the same time, he did live through interesting times, and as a result the book is sprinkled with appearances, not only by other writers, but by actors, politicians, and civil rights leaders. Additionally, Faulkner's self-destructive behavior transforms even the most boring of subjects, such as winning some literary award, into a much more dramatic event.
The truth is that I'm making an effort (in part, because it seems to have come up so much more in the past year or so) to ignore biography. I can admire the actor or the athlete for their performances, without much caring about their disappointing personal lives. I've never really understood why people tend to vote for politicians they'd like to have a beer with, when in reality, they'll never so much as pull up a barstool next to them. And so it is with Faulkner; that I find ninety percent of his life disgusting (and in truth, that number (and my attitude in this review in general) is a bit of an overstatement, as there is actually quite a bit to admire about the man) is kind of irrelevant. Even were he still alive, the only time I'd be sharing any part of that ninety percent is by reading a book like this.
Instead, I can focus on the real reason I know Faulkner's name: his books. Perhaps the best thing one can say about Oates' work here is that it made me want to revisit most, if not all, of Faulkner's oeuvre. Although admittedly, the sections of this book about the writing of A Fable drag on just as much as what I remember of the actual reading.
One additional note: I cringed when Oates described himself as using "novelistic techniques" in the preface, imagining the worst, but he does an admirable job. I'd pictured creaky-sounding dialogue, but for the most part he relies strictly on description, and when he does present actual speech (which he does sparingly) it feels quite natural. Frankly, I'm not entirely sure to what he was referring, unless he means that he delves into the emotional context of the man's life, rather than just presenting a list of dates, times, and places, which, in my opinion, is the responsibility of any biographer, whether he uses "novelistic techniques" or not.
Truth be told, I already knew some of this about Faulkner, but the book sets it out in stark detail. As an example, if you removed every anecdote from the book that involves him getting so drunk that someone else has to put him to bed or take him to dry out in a hospital, you'd be left with little more than a pamphlet describing the plots of his major books.
But despite any moral repugnance engendered by The Man and The Artist, the book is a surprisingly good read. At times it can feel a little repetitive, due in most part to Faulkner's ceaseless wishy-washy circling back to themes of self-doubt, alcoholism, and money woes. Yet at the same time, he did live through interesting times, and as a result the book is sprinkled with appearances, not only by other writers, but by actors, politicians, and civil rights leaders. Additionally, Faulkner's self-destructive behavior transforms even the most boring of subjects, such as winning some literary award, into a much more dramatic event.
The truth is that I'm making an effort (in part, because it seems to have come up so much more in the past year or so) to ignore biography. I can admire the actor or the athlete for their performances, without much caring about their disappointing personal lives. I've never really understood why people tend to vote for politicians they'd like to have a beer with, when in reality, they'll never so much as pull up a barstool next to them. And so it is with Faulkner; that I find ninety percent of his life disgusting (and in truth, that number (and my attitude in this review in general) is a bit of an overstatement, as there is actually quite a bit to admire about the man) is kind of irrelevant. Even were he still alive, the only time I'd be sharing any part of that ninety percent is by reading a book like this.
Instead, I can focus on the real reason I know Faulkner's name: his books. Perhaps the best thing one can say about Oates' work here is that it made me want to revisit most, if not all, of Faulkner's oeuvre. Although admittedly, the sections of this book about the writing of A Fable drag on just as much as what I remember of the actual reading.
One additional note: I cringed when Oates described himself as using "novelistic techniques" in the preface, imagining the worst, but he does an admirable job. I'd pictured creaky-sounding dialogue, but for the most part he relies strictly on description, and when he does present actual speech (which he does sparingly) it feels quite natural. Frankly, I'm not entirely sure to what he was referring, unless he means that he delves into the emotional context of the man's life, rather than just presenting a list of dates, times, and places, which, in my opinion, is the responsibility of any biographer, whether he uses "novelistic techniques" or not.
April 10, 2013
If you have The Portable Faulkner, then you might think of this work as The Accessible Faulkner, at least as far as Faulkner being accessible goes.
That Faulkner was an enigma is pretty much set in stone, and we see here a lot of the anecdotes and stories about the Nobel Laureate and his times, both good and bad. It's hard reading, sometimes, because we see the man coming to grief, and never even trying to dodge trouble. In fact, courting trouble seemed to be an overarching aspect of his life. "Tortured artist" may be an apt description of Faulkner, but he was just as likely to be a torturing artist, selfish, infantile, faithless, chauvinistic.
He finally passed away in my one-time home town, trying once again to dry out, and when the end comes, we're left with sadness and regret.
Oates does a fine job of chronicling the vagaries of the author's life. If you'd like to take a look inside the clockworks that was William Faulkner, this is a good place to start.
4 Stars.
That Faulkner was an enigma is pretty much set in stone, and we see here a lot of the anecdotes and stories about the Nobel Laureate and his times, both good and bad. It's hard reading, sometimes, because we see the man coming to grief, and never even trying to dodge trouble. In fact, courting trouble seemed to be an overarching aspect of his life. "Tortured artist" may be an apt description of Faulkner, but he was just as likely to be a torturing artist, selfish, infantile, faithless, chauvinistic.
He finally passed away in my one-time home town, trying once again to dry out, and when the end comes, we're left with sadness and regret.
Oates does a fine job of chronicling the vagaries of the author's life. If you'd like to take a look inside the clockworks that was William Faulkner, this is a good place to start.
4 Stars.
January 30, 2011
this book brings william faulkner to life. though it feels objective at times and even redundant, we gather a sense of a complicated man who is filled with so much beauty and torment. i knew nothing about fualkner before i began reading this biography, but now i am completely absorbed in his work. Oates provides plot summaries of Faulkner's major works in the book, but thankfully the summaries and spoilers can be easily avoided. the language is romantic and creates a sentimental tone longing for peace in Faulkner's world of morbidity. all in all, a really fun and informative book to read.
April 27, 2013
Oates successfully takes the reader deep into Faulkner's life. It is a maddening but illuminating trip, as the narrative details the great author's struggles with bouts of self-esteem and alcoholism. Anyone who has ever struggled with Faulkner's work would do well to start here as the biography demystifies some of Faulkner's dense prose. As a companion piece, the Oates biography helps breathe even more life into the Snopes, Sutpens and other denizens of Faulkner's world, and leaves the reader feeling as if the man himself might be in the room, bourbon in hand.
September 6, 2014
Not as great as Ellmann's 'Joyce' but still immensely readable and informative, this bio has much to say about genius and what makes a writer a writer. Faulkner is America's greatest contribution to world literature and, because so much of his life was spent in the area of the country were I reside, this biography was an especial delight.
"Once a gushing woman said, 'Mr. Faulkner, I understand that an author always puts himself in his books. Which character are you in Sanctuary?' 'Madam,' Faulkner retorted, 'I was the corncob'."
"Once a gushing woman said, 'Mr. Faulkner, I understand that an author always puts himself in his books. Which character are you in Sanctuary?' 'Madam,' Faulkner retorted, 'I was the corncob'."
March 5, 2011
I've never read anything by William Faulkner (not that I haven't tried). When I read this bio years ago, I was immediately smitten. What a charming jerk he must have been! I was tickled to learn that Bill used the famous line "between grief and nothing, I'll take grief" not once, but twice, in letters to two different mistresses, in addition to using it in whatever book it was in. What nerve -- quoting himself to score chicks!
June 27, 2009
some nice biographical info. the novelistic style is fine as an idea, but the artistry certainly falls way short of faulkner himself, or any other respectable author. i have stalled in reading it about halfway through because i'm nervous about all the spoilers i'm getting in the plot summaries of faulkner's novels.
July 8, 2007
Reads like one of Faulkner's own novels. Brilliantly written and superbly interesting. My favorite biography, hands down... one of my favorite books, period.
October 17, 2008
One of the best biographies I have ever read
May 25, 2012
Accessible and entertaining shorter biography, using some fictional techniques to create scenes that may have happened, based on evidence.
Displaying 1 - 14 of 14 reviews