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The Wild Palms
In this feverishly beautiful novel— subsequently titled If I Forget Thee, Jerusalem and now published in the authoritative Library of America text—William Faulkner interweaves two narratives, each wholly absorbing in its own right, each subtly illuminating the other. In New Orleans in 1937, a man and a woman embark on a headlong flight into the wilderness of illicit passion, fleeing her husband and the temptations of respectability. In Mississippi ten years earlier, a convict sets forth across a flooded river, risking his own chance at freedom to rescue a pregnant woman. From these separate stories Faulkner composes a symphony of deliverance and damnation, survival and self-sacrifice, a novel in which elemental danger is juxtaposed wiht fatal injuries of the spirit. The Wild Palms is grandly inventive, heart-stopping in its prose, and suffused on every page with the physical presence of the country that Faulkner made his own.
304 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1939
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About the author
William Faulkner
1,348 books10.7k followersWilliam Cuthbert Faulkner was an American writer. He is best known for his novels and short stories set in the fictional Yoknapatawpha County, Mississippi, a stand-in for Lafayette County where he spent most of his life. A Nobel laureate, Faulkner is one of the most celebrated writers of American literature and often is considered the greatest writer of Southern literature.
Faulkner was born in New Albany, Mississippi, and raised in Oxford, Mississippi. During World War I, he joined the Royal Canadian Air Force, but did not serve in combat. Returning to Oxford, he attended the University of Mississippi for three semesters before dropping out. He moved to New Orleans, where he wrote his first novel Soldiers' Pay (1925). He went back to Oxford and wrote Sartoris (1927), his first work set in the fictional Yoknapatawpha County. In 1929, he published The Sound and the Fury. The following year, he wrote As I Lay Dying. Later that decade, he wrote Light in August, Absalom, Absalom! and The Wild Palms. He also worked as a screenwriter, contributing to Howard Hawks's To Have and Have Not and The Big Sleep, adapted from Raymond Chandler's novel. The former film, adapted from Ernest Hemingway's novel, is the only film with contributions by two Nobel laureates.
Faulkner's reputation grew following publication of Malcolm Cowley's The Portable Faulkner, and he was awarded the 1949 Nobel Prize in Literature for "his powerful and unique contribution to the modern American novel." He is the only Mississippi-born Nobel laureate. Two of his works, A Fable (1954) and The Reivers (1962), won the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction. Faulkner died from a heart attack on July 6, 1962, following a fall from his horse the month before. Ralph Ellison called him "the greatest artist the South has produced".
Faulkner was born in New Albany, Mississippi, and raised in Oxford, Mississippi. During World War I, he joined the Royal Canadian Air Force, but did not serve in combat. Returning to Oxford, he attended the University of Mississippi for three semesters before dropping out. He moved to New Orleans, where he wrote his first novel Soldiers' Pay (1925). He went back to Oxford and wrote Sartoris (1927), his first work set in the fictional Yoknapatawpha County. In 1929, he published The Sound and the Fury. The following year, he wrote As I Lay Dying. Later that decade, he wrote Light in August, Absalom, Absalom! and The Wild Palms. He also worked as a screenwriter, contributing to Howard Hawks's To Have and Have Not and The Big Sleep, adapted from Raymond Chandler's novel. The former film, adapted from Ernest Hemingway's novel, is the only film with contributions by two Nobel laureates.
Faulkner's reputation grew following publication of Malcolm Cowley's The Portable Faulkner, and he was awarded the 1949 Nobel Prize in Literature for "his powerful and unique contribution to the modern American novel." He is the only Mississippi-born Nobel laureate. Two of his works, A Fable (1954) and The Reivers (1962), won the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction. Faulkner died from a heart attack on July 6, 1962, following a fall from his horse the month before. Ralph Ellison called him "the greatest artist the South has produced".
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January 5, 2024
The Wild Palms appeared to me the most beautiful novel ever written by William Faulkner. Two parallel tales of love and agony are permeated with the ultimate humanism.
Love creates suffering and suffering makes us human.
“Yes. It’s love. They say love dies between two people. That’s wrong. It doesn’t die. It just leaves you, goes away, if you are not good enough, worthy enough. It doesn’t die; you’re the one that dies. It’s like the ocean: if you’re no good, if you begin to make a bad smell in it, it just spews you up somewhere to die. You die anyway, but I had rather drown in the ocean than be urped up onto a strip of dead beach and be dried away by the sun into a little foul smear with ne name to it, just This Was for an epitaph.”
Love creates suffering and suffering makes us human.
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May 23, 2023
'Given the choice between the experience of pain and nothing, I would choose pain.'
So check it out, this book includes an escaped convict having to wrestle an alligator to survive. Which is pretty wild. The Wild Palms however, is not a reference to his hands choking out that alligator but a psalm from which the novel took it's original title If I forget thee, Jerusalem. The psalm, which reads 'If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, let my right hand forget her cunning. If I do not remember thee, let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth, if I prefer not Jerusalem above my chief joy' is about the Jewish people exiled to Babylon and having to process their freedom, or lack of it. Which, in effect, is the heartbeat that drives both stories that rotate between the covers here. Faulkner being Faulkner, this is a dark meditation on how the search for freedom often results in its lack with a robust prose and plenty of Biblical allusions abound that, ultimately, shows how memory is the one freedom that can remain.
'Love doesn't die; the men and women do.'
Honestly, I much prefered the Old Man story to the Wild Palms half, the former covering a convict who escapes during the flooding from a hurricane and teams up with a pregnant woman to survive together while the latter is an illicit relationship between a married woman and a young doctor hiding out in Mississippi. The two stories are a decade apart, yet there is a binding theme between them. Both sets of characters find that the routes to freedom often become the very things that confine them. The juxtapositions between the stories help each narrative become an abstract commentary on the other, with many foils between the two. For instance, a baby leads to imprisonment for both men but in very different ways.
This is classic Faulkner, though I think I prefer him best when he is mythmaking out of daily lives in rural towns than his affair plot here. It's a worthwhile read from what I remember, and I stumbled upon my old copy today and poured through the extensive notes I took on it when I read it in college for fun. A pretty solid story about memory as a means to endure even when freedom seems impossible.
3.5/5
'when she became not then half of memory became not and if I become not then all of remembering will cease to be.—Yes, he thought, between grief and nothing I will take grief.'
So check it out, this book includes an escaped convict having to wrestle an alligator to survive. Which is pretty wild. The Wild Palms however, is not a reference to his hands choking out that alligator but a psalm from which the novel took it's original title If I forget thee, Jerusalem. The psalm, which reads 'If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, let my right hand forget her cunning. If I do not remember thee, let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth, if I prefer not Jerusalem above my chief joy' is about the Jewish people exiled to Babylon and having to process their freedom, or lack of it. Which, in effect, is the heartbeat that drives both stories that rotate between the covers here. Faulkner being Faulkner, this is a dark meditation on how the search for freedom often results in its lack with a robust prose and plenty of Biblical allusions abound that, ultimately, shows how memory is the one freedom that can remain.
'Love doesn't die; the men and women do.'
Honestly, I much prefered the Old Man story to the Wild Palms half, the former covering a convict who escapes during the flooding from a hurricane and teams up with a pregnant woman to survive together while the latter is an illicit relationship between a married woman and a young doctor hiding out in Mississippi. The two stories are a decade apart, yet there is a binding theme between them. Both sets of characters find that the routes to freedom often become the very things that confine them. The juxtapositions between the stories help each narrative become an abstract commentary on the other, with many foils between the two. For instance, a baby leads to imprisonment for both men but in very different ways.
This is classic Faulkner, though I think I prefer him best when he is mythmaking out of daily lives in rural towns than his affair plot here. It's a worthwhile read from what I remember, and I stumbled upon my old copy today and poured through the extensive notes I took on it when I read it in college for fun. A pretty solid story about memory as a means to endure even when freedom seems impossible.
3.5/5
'when she became not then half of memory became not and if I become not then all of remembering will cease to be.—Yes, he thought, between grief and nothing I will take grief.'
November 9, 2021
Batman sits on the psychotherapist’s couch. This is not Christian Bale or even Michael Keaton, it is Adam West, no vulcanized rubber or embedded metal. His therapist has a great resemblance to the actor John C. Reilly.
Batman discusses, again, the night his parents were murdered, his complicated feelings for Dick Grayson, his anxiety over the designated hitter rule and William Faulkner’s 1939 novel The Wild Palms.
Batman: … and so I think I’m losing my mind.
Dr: Wait – we were really making some headway there and you switched to talking about Faulkner.
Batman: Not just Faulkner in a broad sense, specifically his 1939 novel …
Dr: Yes, The Wild Palms, a combination of two seemingly unrelated short stories, told in non-linear, alternating chapters, I’m familiar with the work, but why, how does this affect your psyche.
Batman: Having read it, the two stories, told ten years apart, one about two lovers, the other about a convict saving the lives of a pregnant woman and her child, he has crafted an experimental narrative, a Jungian synchronicity between the two otherwise dissimilar storylines, sort of like the Flashpoint paradox.
Dr: Flashpoint?
Batman: Also, putting those two stories together, it’s like combining two wonderful things. It’s like a Reece’s cup - chocolate and peanut butter, they’re both good but you put them together and the two parts are greater than the whole, it’s a synergy of literary and artistic energy. Like Hall and Oats or Brooks and Dunn.
Dr: Reece’s, oh yeah, I could crawl inside of one and eat my way out!
Batman: Right?
Dr: But Holy sugary goodness Batman, I never understood how the two stories combined, I guess I just don’t get Faulkner.
Batman: The first story, The Wild Palms, ten years after the second, is about a couple, an estranged wife, on the run from her husband, although he knows and has grudgingly consented to the triste, and it’s about freedom, and the dangers inherent in true liberty, from relationships and from the mores of society. The second, Old Man, is about a conscientious prisoner, who, during the Mississippi flood of 1927, is sent in a small paddle boat to rescue a pregnant woman, but the two are then swept away in the waters and all the while, though escape is available to him throughout and staying with the woman costs him dearly in pain and ardor, and all the while he just wants to surrender and return to the prison farm where he has found lasting peace.
Dr: But … what the hell? How do they relate? What in the hell is Faulkner doing?
Batman: There are interrelated themes, pregnancy and freedom, and responsibility and commitment and sacrifice, both stories delve deep into the prisons we make for ourselves.
Dr: Ok, I can see where that could be seen as genius, he was a great writer, but I still think Hemingway was better.
Batman: Please! Papa was a good writer and a rolling stone but William Faulkner is to American literature as David Bowie is to popular music, the biggest swinging dick in the locker room and The Wild Palms is only one of the devices he used to demonstrate his great, swaggering virtuosity.
Dr: Eh, ok, we got sidetracked, how do you feel about Alfred?
Batman: Love is a many splendored thing …
Batman discusses, again, the night his parents were murdered, his complicated feelings for Dick Grayson, his anxiety over the designated hitter rule and William Faulkner’s 1939 novel The Wild Palms.
Batman: … and so I think I’m losing my mind.
Dr: Wait – we were really making some headway there and you switched to talking about Faulkner.
Batman: Not just Faulkner in a broad sense, specifically his 1939 novel …
Dr: Yes, The Wild Palms, a combination of two seemingly unrelated short stories, told in non-linear, alternating chapters, I’m familiar with the work, but why, how does this affect your psyche.
Batman: Having read it, the two stories, told ten years apart, one about two lovers, the other about a convict saving the lives of a pregnant woman and her child, he has crafted an experimental narrative, a Jungian synchronicity between the two otherwise dissimilar storylines, sort of like the Flashpoint paradox.
Dr: Flashpoint?
Batman: Also, putting those two stories together, it’s like combining two wonderful things. It’s like a Reece’s cup - chocolate and peanut butter, they’re both good but you put them together and the two parts are greater than the whole, it’s a synergy of literary and artistic energy. Like Hall and Oats or Brooks and Dunn.
Dr: Reece’s, oh yeah, I could crawl inside of one and eat my way out!
Batman: Right?
Dr: But Holy sugary goodness Batman, I never understood how the two stories combined, I guess I just don’t get Faulkner.
Batman: The first story, The Wild Palms, ten years after the second, is about a couple, an estranged wife, on the run from her husband, although he knows and has grudgingly consented to the triste, and it’s about freedom, and the dangers inherent in true liberty, from relationships and from the mores of society. The second, Old Man, is about a conscientious prisoner, who, during the Mississippi flood of 1927, is sent in a small paddle boat to rescue a pregnant woman, but the two are then swept away in the waters and all the while, though escape is available to him throughout and staying with the woman costs him dearly in pain and ardor, and all the while he just wants to surrender and return to the prison farm where he has found lasting peace.
Dr: But … what the hell? How do they relate? What in the hell is Faulkner doing?
Batman: There are interrelated themes, pregnancy and freedom, and responsibility and commitment and sacrifice, both stories delve deep into the prisons we make for ourselves.
Dr: Ok, I can see where that could be seen as genius, he was a great writer, but I still think Hemingway was better.
Batman: Please! Papa was a good writer and a rolling stone but William Faulkner is to American literature as David Bowie is to popular music, the biggest swinging dick in the locker room and The Wild Palms is only one of the devices he used to demonstrate his great, swaggering virtuosity.
Dr: Eh, ok, we got sidetracked, how do you feel about Alfred?
Batman: Love is a many splendored thing …
January 9, 2024
Several years ago, quite by chance, I stumbled across a movie made in 1997, based upon a story by William Faulkner. The movie was The Old Man. I was surprised, because I thought I was familiar with all of Faulkner’s work, and I had never heard of this story before. (BTW, the movie is a work of art). A little research revealed that the story was part of a book titled The Wild Palms, originally titled If I Forget the, Jerusalem, and I had never read it. I bought it promptly, and it has languished on my Kindle since then…waiting, waiting.
This month The Southern Literary Trail selected The Wild Palms as the monthly read, and I decided it was high time I made good on my promise to read this book. It is unlike any Faulkner I have read before. It is literally two stories, interspersed in a sort of rotation. I honestly believe that, had Faulkner written the two stories without the interruption, I would have both enjoyed them more and gotten more from them. Hard to say Faulkner made a mistake, but it sort of feels that way to me.
Both stories are about the hardships of life, the impossibility of controlling it; perhaps the impossibility of controlling even oneself. There is a kind of breathless pace to the writing that makes you feel almost exhausted, as if you might be the convict stranded on the Mississippi, endless rowing the boat toward your inevitable imprisonment. The sentences run on, creating a kind of flow that drags the reader along, with visuals that are sometimes graphic and sometimes illusory.
The main characters of The Wild Palms are lovers Harry and Charlotte. Charlotte is a would-be artist, and she seems to me to be trying to create a world in which reality can be ignored. Harry is a be-smitten and naive young man, who hardly knows what he wants, except to be in a state of being loved by Charlotte. There is a desperation about them that is almost irritating. Charlotte’s husband, Rat, is a fleeting character, but another enigma. His love for Charlotte is far more enduring than she deserves. That the affair ends in tragedy is hardly a surprise, but the nature of the tragedy was.
The Old Man is the story of a convict who is sent out into a flood of the Mississippi River to rescue a pregnant woman. The most captivating thing about this story was the depth of description Faulkner brought to the flood itself. I could feel the man swept along from Vicksburg to Baton Rouge, the pregnant woman trailing along until she is also dangling a newborn from the bow. I might never recover from the description of the snakes crawling around them in the swampy river and hanging from the low limbs of trees.
shaking the snakes (he no longer thought, It aint nothing but another moccasin, he just stepped aside for them as they, when there was time, telescoped sullenly aside for him)
I exited the book with mixed feelings. In the end, it impressed me more than I had initially thought it would, but I did not feel any affinity with any of the characters, which keeps it from being as impactful as it might have been. Additionally, I feel like I either missed Faulkner’s intentions or the staggering of the stories was inhibiting instead of enhancing. I know he is a genius, so the failure might be 100% on me.
This month The Southern Literary Trail selected The Wild Palms as the monthly read, and I decided it was high time I made good on my promise to read this book. It is unlike any Faulkner I have read before. It is literally two stories, interspersed in a sort of rotation. I honestly believe that, had Faulkner written the two stories without the interruption, I would have both enjoyed them more and gotten more from them. Hard to say Faulkner made a mistake, but it sort of feels that way to me.
Both stories are about the hardships of life, the impossibility of controlling it; perhaps the impossibility of controlling even oneself. There is a kind of breathless pace to the writing that makes you feel almost exhausted, as if you might be the convict stranded on the Mississippi, endless rowing the boat toward your inevitable imprisonment. The sentences run on, creating a kind of flow that drags the reader along, with visuals that are sometimes graphic and sometimes illusory.
The main characters of The Wild Palms are lovers Harry and Charlotte. Charlotte is a would-be artist, and she seems to me to be trying to create a world in which reality can be ignored. Harry is a be-smitten and naive young man, who hardly knows what he wants, except to be in a state of being loved by Charlotte. There is a desperation about them that is almost irritating. Charlotte’s husband, Rat, is a fleeting character, but another enigma. His love for Charlotte is far more enduring than she deserves. That the affair ends in tragedy is hardly a surprise, but the nature of the tragedy was.
The Old Man is the story of a convict who is sent out into a flood of the Mississippi River to rescue a pregnant woman. The most captivating thing about this story was the depth of description Faulkner brought to the flood itself. I could feel the man swept along from Vicksburg to Baton Rouge, the pregnant woman trailing along until she is also dangling a newborn from the bow. I might never recover from the description of the snakes crawling around them in the swampy river and hanging from the low limbs of trees.
shaking the snakes (he no longer thought, It aint nothing but another moccasin, he just stepped aside for them as they, when there was time, telescoped sullenly aside for him)
I exited the book with mixed feelings. In the end, it impressed me more than I had initially thought it would, but I did not feel any affinity with any of the characters, which keeps it from being as impactful as it might have been. Additionally, I feel like I either missed Faulkner’s intentions or the staggering of the stories was inhibiting instead of enhancing. I know he is a genius, so the failure might be 100% on me.
January 14, 2023
Mi primera lectura del año. Fue un gran comienzo y cuando un libro me gusta tanto a veces prefiero no reseñarlo para evitar exageraciones. Pero voy a tratar…
En Las palmeras salvajes se intercalan dos historias tristes: “Palmeras salvajes” y “El viejo”.
“Palmeras salvajes” narra la relación entre Harry Wilbourne y Carlota Rittenmeyer, una pareja de amantes que se interna en la naturaleza para huir de la mirada inquisitoria de la sociedad y se enfrenta con el paisaje y el clima que son tan destructivos como las personas:
“El viejo” empieza contando la historia de dos presidiarios, el penado bajo y el penado alto -este último fue a prisión por culpa de la mala literatura- para luego acompañarlos durante la inundación de «Old Man», el Misisipi, en que deben rescatar a una mujer. Y otra vez el río y el paisaje arremeten con furia:
Ambas son historias de amor y desesperanza y cada una es bellísima por sí sola pero Faulkner cuenta que la historia principal era “Palmeras salvajes” y “El viejo” surgió como contrapunto para los momentos en que la primera perdía intensidad, sin embargo, se dice que lo que más recuerdan los lectores es la inundación del Misisipi, yo no sé todavía, tengo que dejar actuar al tiempo. Es cierto que la aventura del Misisipi se presenta con más fuerza pero la otra historia conmueve y en los momentos en que podría aburrir un poco porque es más lenta, vuelve el río. Creo que Faulkner logró su objetivo, al menos en mí esta alternancia hizo el efecto esperado y tuve esa conexión que tengo pocas veces y que consiste en que el capítulo termina justo cuando quiero hacer una pausa.
No es un libro difícil como otros del autor. Las dos historias están separadas por títulos y contadas en tercera persona, no hay flujo de conciencia, pero tampoco es un libro simple para leer de un tirón, hay párrafos largos cargados de imágenes en los que uno podría perderse como en una travesía por el Misisipi o, simplemente, podría perderse una imagen digna de rememorar, podría, por ejemplo, no oír el salvaje, seco entrechocarse de las palmeras.
El título del manuscrito era If I Forget Thee, Jerusalem (Si te llego a olvidar, Jerusalén), proveniente del Salmo 137:1-9, que expresa la nostalgia de los judíos cautivos en Babilonia ("Si yo te olvido, oh Jerusalén olvídese de sí mi diestra"), pero la editorial lo rechazó para evitar sentimientos antisemitas, aunque del salmo Faulkner solo rescataba la fidelidad de los judíos a su dolor, sentimiento que persistirá en una frase que dice Harry en uno de los momentos culminantes: “Entre la pena y la nada elijo la pena”.
Hay una nota de Carlos María Domínguez sobre la traducción al castellano de Borges y los cambios en algunas ediciones, es muy interesante -de ahí saqué el dato sobre el título original- y se las recomiendo. Ya me extendí demasiado y corro riesgos de develar el argumento. Aparte el libro es tan lindo que hubiera preferido hablar menos, quizás nada. Esta es la última vez que reseño a Faulkner.
En Las palmeras salvajes se intercalan dos historias tristes: “Palmeras salvajes” y “El viejo”.
“Palmeras salvajes” narra la relación entre Harry Wilbourne y Carlota Rittenmeyer, una pareja de amantes que se interna en la naturaleza para huir de la mirada inquisitoria de la sociedad y se enfrenta con el paisaje y el clima que son tan destructivos como las personas:
“…habían intimado con el frío, profunda e inextricablemente por primera vez en la vida, un frío que dejaba una marca indeleble e inolvidable en algún rincón del espíritu y de la memoria como la primera experiencia sexual o la experiencia de matar a un hombre.”
“El viejo” empieza contando la historia de dos presidiarios, el penado bajo y el penado alto -este último fue a prisión por culpa de la mala literatura- para luego acompañarlos durante la inundación de «Old Man», el Misisipi, en que deben rescatar a una mujer. Y otra vez el río y el paisaje arremeten con furia:
“Cruzaron otro puente, dos paradójicos y delicados rieles de hierro emergiendo del agua, siguiendo un trecho paralelo a ella, luego sumergiéndose con una monstruosidad casi significativa aunque aparentemente insensata, como alguna cosa en un sueño que no es del todo una pesadilla”.
Ambas son historias de amor y desesperanza y cada una es bellísima por sí sola pero Faulkner cuenta que la historia principal era “Palmeras salvajes” y “El viejo” surgió como contrapunto para los momentos en que la primera perdía intensidad, sin embargo, se dice que lo que más recuerdan los lectores es la inundación del Misisipi, yo no sé todavía, tengo que dejar actuar al tiempo. Es cierto que la aventura del Misisipi se presenta con más fuerza pero la otra historia conmueve y en los momentos en que podría aburrir un poco porque es más lenta, vuelve el río. Creo que Faulkner logró su objetivo, al menos en mí esta alternancia hizo el efecto esperado y tuve esa conexión que tengo pocas veces y que consiste en que el capítulo termina justo cuando quiero hacer una pausa.
No es un libro difícil como otros del autor. Las dos historias están separadas por títulos y contadas en tercera persona, no hay flujo de conciencia, pero tampoco es un libro simple para leer de un tirón, hay párrafos largos cargados de imágenes en los que uno podría perderse como en una travesía por el Misisipi o, simplemente, podría perderse una imagen digna de rememorar, podría, por ejemplo, no oír el salvaje, seco entrechocarse de las palmeras.
El título del manuscrito era If I Forget Thee, Jerusalem (Si te llego a olvidar, Jerusalén), proveniente del Salmo 137:1-9, que expresa la nostalgia de los judíos cautivos en Babilonia ("Si yo te olvido, oh Jerusalén olvídese de sí mi diestra"), pero la editorial lo rechazó para evitar sentimientos antisemitas, aunque del salmo Faulkner solo rescataba la fidelidad de los judíos a su dolor, sentimiento que persistirá en una frase que dice Harry en uno de los momentos culminantes: “Entre la pena y la nada elijo la pena”.
Hay una nota de Carlos María Domínguez sobre la traducción al castellano de Borges y los cambios en algunas ediciones, es muy interesante -de ahí saqué el dato sobre el título original- y se las recomiendo. Ya me extendí demasiado y corro riesgos de develar el argumento. Aparte el libro es tan lindo que hubiera preferido hablar menos, quizás nada. Esta es la última vez que reseño a Faulkner.
April 11, 2018
Dialogue Here Is Downright Embarrassing
I've read that other writers of his day laughed at the dialogue in some of Faulkner's novels. I'm no Faulkner scholar; after having read or re-read nearly all of his novels now though, I'd say this book is THE primary suspect. While conversations were not Faulkner's strong suit, the conversations between the two lovers here is so clumsy it could be mistaken for overdramatic middle school improv. I am not exaggerating when I say that I've never read any interaction so awkward.
For me,this the worst of all Faulkner novels because of the dialogue and the fact that half of this two-story novel is beyond any hopeless gloom I've ever read (that is, until I read the abominably artful pain porn called A Little Life).
A reminder that even the best have bad books.
I've read that other writers of his day laughed at the dialogue in some of Faulkner's novels. I'm no Faulkner scholar; after having read or re-read nearly all of his novels now though, I'd say this book is THE primary suspect. While conversations were not Faulkner's strong suit, the conversations between the two lovers here is so clumsy it could be mistaken for overdramatic middle school improv. I am not exaggerating when I say that I've never read any interaction so awkward.
For me,this the worst of all Faulkner novels because of the dialogue and the fact that half of this two-story novel is beyond any hopeless gloom I've ever read (that is, until I read the abominably artful pain porn called A Little Life).
A reminder that even the best have bad books.
December 28, 2012
Greatest Faulkner book I have read so far! Fan-bloody-tastic. I liked this even better than Absalom! Absalom! And it was much easier to follow.
The Wild Palms is a novel which actually consists of two different stories. Faulkner decided to interweave two different stories to build each respective story more towards its climax. Faulkner actually wanted to call this novel If I Forget Thee, Jerusalem but his editors insisted on calling it The Wild Palms, the title of ONE of the two stories in this novel. The editors won out but in editions sold today you can see Faulkner’s title in brackets.
The ‘main’ story, The Wild Palms, is a classic tale of illicit love (i.e. adultery) in which a married woman Charlotte runs away with a med student/intern Harry. Many of the women in Faulkner’s novels are fascinating – usually singular, strong-willed, determined, independent, abusive or abused and Charlotte is no exception. The star-crossed lovers travel across the country, barely managing to scrape by. At one point, Harry gets a job as a doctor at a mining shaft and it is around this time that Charlotte gets pregnant. However, it is here that we begin to learn of one of the reasons why Charlotte wanted to run away – she did not want children (nor stability or those other things that most women crave). She laments that childbirth is too painful but in a typical Faulknerian masterful stroke of subtlety, he suggests to the reader that there is much more to it than that, that there is a painful past that even we the readers should not be too ready to probe into and examine and condemn. Therefore, she asks Harry to perform an abortion, which he has successfully done once before, but which is totally against his morals and principles. I won’t spoil the rest of the story for those who have not read it but it does ascend to a dramatic climax.
Now, to the other ‘strand’ of the novel entitled, The Old Man. This story is about a convict who is asked to go and rescue two people stranded in a famous flood which occurred in 1927. The convict is asked to bring back a stranded pregnant woman and a man clinging to the roof of a cottonwood house. The first operation is successful but not the second. The tall convict is one of those guys whose luck just goes from bad to worse. In the end he succeeds in his operation after going through various trials and tribulations and despite the great odds that were weighed against him. He managed to navigate a skiff through incredibly treacherous waters (the flood), nearly drowning several times, going for several days without food, gets shot at when spotted by police and ends up hunting alligators with a wild bayou-rat Frenchman. What’s not to like in this story?
So how are these too novels related? On the surface level, they are not related at all. According to Faulkner, he decided to write and include The Old Man strand of the story “as a counterpoint to the story of Charlotte and Harry”, which works beautifully as it sets both stories up for an exhilarating climax without letting the illicit love tale become “too shrill”. I could be going way out on a limb here, but I think there is more to it than just what Faulkner lets us onto. I believe that these stories and in particular the endings of these stories and the ultimate fates of the main characters forces the reader to question ideas of justice/injustice in the world at large. I don’t want to delve more into it than that for those who have not read the novel. Just like in Light in August, there is one ‘happy’ ending and one ‘sad’ ending to this novel.
Some have pointed out, myself included (in a previous review of another Faulkner novel), that Faulkner does not create stories so much but creates atmospheres. This is very true although after reading this novel I have to say that there is a definite and very traceable plot there as well. Not only is he the master of sketching such unforgettable and singular characters in literature but he takes us headlong into their minds and deepest thoughts. And that is why some may find reading his novels difficult. In more conventional novels, much of the action occurs externally (told through a narrator) but I would like to argue that Faulkner is a great internal storyteller, just like some poets are great at writing internal poetry (for example Michael McClure). We get to see the world and the whole story through their eyes, which gives us a better understanding of who they are and why they behave the way they do and sometimes a justification for how they are or what they do, no matter how reprehensible it may be. And in this respect Faulkner is a real champion of the human heart. He wants to explore the human condition unabashedly and openly and for this I hold him in the utmost respect.
All in all, I cannot rate this book highly enough. I have read quite a few Faulkner books this year, most of them good, and after reading such great novels as Light in August, Sanctuary and particularly the stunning The Unvanquished (my second favorite), this comes as a pleasant surprise and a welcome addition to the Faulkner corner of my small and humble library. Highly recommended even for someone new to Faulkner’s work as this story is very accessible, for the most part. Five stars.
The Wild Palms is a novel which actually consists of two different stories. Faulkner decided to interweave two different stories to build each respective story more towards its climax. Faulkner actually wanted to call this novel If I Forget Thee, Jerusalem but his editors insisted on calling it The Wild Palms, the title of ONE of the two stories in this novel. The editors won out but in editions sold today you can see Faulkner’s title in brackets.
The ‘main’ story, The Wild Palms, is a classic tale of illicit love (i.e. adultery) in which a married woman Charlotte runs away with a med student/intern Harry. Many of the women in Faulkner’s novels are fascinating – usually singular, strong-willed, determined, independent, abusive or abused and Charlotte is no exception. The star-crossed lovers travel across the country, barely managing to scrape by. At one point, Harry gets a job as a doctor at a mining shaft and it is around this time that Charlotte gets pregnant. However, it is here that we begin to learn of one of the reasons why Charlotte wanted to run away – she did not want children (nor stability or those other things that most women crave). She laments that childbirth is too painful but in a typical Faulknerian masterful stroke of subtlety, he suggests to the reader that there is much more to it than that, that there is a painful past that even we the readers should not be too ready to probe into and examine and condemn. Therefore, she asks Harry to perform an abortion, which he has successfully done once before, but which is totally against his morals and principles. I won’t spoil the rest of the story for those who have not read it but it does ascend to a dramatic climax.
Now, to the other ‘strand’ of the novel entitled, The Old Man. This story is about a convict who is asked to go and rescue two people stranded in a famous flood which occurred in 1927. The convict is asked to bring back a stranded pregnant woman and a man clinging to the roof of a cottonwood house. The first operation is successful but not the second. The tall convict is one of those guys whose luck just goes from bad to worse. In the end he succeeds in his operation after going through various trials and tribulations and despite the great odds that were weighed against him. He managed to navigate a skiff through incredibly treacherous waters (the flood), nearly drowning several times, going for several days without food, gets shot at when spotted by police and ends up hunting alligators with a wild bayou-rat Frenchman. What’s not to like in this story?
So how are these too novels related? On the surface level, they are not related at all. According to Faulkner, he decided to write and include The Old Man strand of the story “as a counterpoint to the story of Charlotte and Harry”, which works beautifully as it sets both stories up for an exhilarating climax without letting the illicit love tale become “too shrill”. I could be going way out on a limb here, but I think there is more to it than just what Faulkner lets us onto. I believe that these stories and in particular the endings of these stories and the ultimate fates of the main characters forces the reader to question ideas of justice/injustice in the world at large. I don’t want to delve more into it than that for those who have not read the novel. Just like in Light in August, there is one ‘happy’ ending and one ‘sad’ ending to this novel.
Some have pointed out, myself included (in a previous review of another Faulkner novel), that Faulkner does not create stories so much but creates atmospheres. This is very true although after reading this novel I have to say that there is a definite and very traceable plot there as well. Not only is he the master of sketching such unforgettable and singular characters in literature but he takes us headlong into their minds and deepest thoughts. And that is why some may find reading his novels difficult. In more conventional novels, much of the action occurs externally (told through a narrator) but I would like to argue that Faulkner is a great internal storyteller, just like some poets are great at writing internal poetry (for example Michael McClure). We get to see the world and the whole story through their eyes, which gives us a better understanding of who they are and why they behave the way they do and sometimes a justification for how they are or what they do, no matter how reprehensible it may be. And in this respect Faulkner is a real champion of the human heart. He wants to explore the human condition unabashedly and openly and for this I hold him in the utmost respect.
All in all, I cannot rate this book highly enough. I have read quite a few Faulkner books this year, most of them good, and after reading such great novels as Light in August, Sanctuary and particularly the stunning The Unvanquished (my second favorite), this comes as a pleasant surprise and a welcome addition to the Faulkner corner of my small and humble library. Highly recommended even for someone new to Faulkner’s work as this story is very accessible, for the most part. Five stars.
May 15, 2021
How inevitable the wheels of unkind fate
Faulkner is not everybody's cup of tea, but he happens to be my favorite American writer. While the critics and all those "best books of the century" lists consistently feature "The Sound and the Fury", "Absalom, Absalom" and maybe "As I Lay Dying" as Faulkner's major works--and I too like those books--I have always thought THE WILD PALMS a gem. An underrated, forgotten gem. Perhaps it really isn't his best novel, but still it is a work of genius. Very few novels on the world stage are composed of two completely separate stories. THE WILD PALMS consists of 1) a trans-continental love story in 1938, taking place in New Orleans, Chicago, Wisconsin, Utah, San Antonio, and the Mississippi Gulf coast, and 2) the story of one man (a prisoner) and his mighty ordeal during the Mississippi River floods of 1927. Parchman State Prison in Mississippi is the sole physical point that joins the two tales, otherwise separate in time, place, class, and impulse. But Faulkner's genius is such that the reader soon understands that the theme of both stories is the same. Faulkner's novels often focus on Fate, how the individual is caught in mysterious, giant webs of `outrageous fortune' beyond comprehension, helpless to oppose the powerful, hidden currents. The present volume is no exception. "You are born submerged in anonymous lockstep"--the main character of story #1 muses on page 54--"with the seeming anonymous myriads of your time and generation; you get out of step once, falter once, and you are trampled to death." In the first case, Wilbourne and Charlotte deviate from the usual path for love's sake, strive mightily to maintain and cherish that love, and pay an inevitable price. In the second, a convict is caught in a flood in a tiny boat when sent to save two people. He rescues one, but is swept away. He completes his mission, returning both boat and rescued woman, despite incredible hardships, only to face a certain ironic destiny. In both cases, other lives or other destinies constantly present themselves, but the protagonists refuse to alter their selected course. It is the antithesis to the Hollywood message that "you can be whatever you want in life, you just have to want it badly enough". Faulkner plumps for Destiny. A person might be, he says on page 266, "...no more than the water bug upon the surface of the pond, the plumbless and lurking depths of which he would never know..." one's only contact with such depths being when Fate is blindly accepted and played out to the bitter end. The forces of Nature, symbolized by the wild clashing of the palm fronds in the winds off the Gulf of Mexico, always outweigh the strength of human beings. The palms clash in the wind at the beginning and at the very end as well. Faulkner concludes that bearing grief, living with it, is better than suicide, better than obliterating the agonies of remembrance with a pill or bullet. Memory, however, bitter and painful, is better than nothingness. The two main characters face similar ends and those ends are a most un-optimistic metaphor for life. A most powerful novel, a novel that speaks from the crocodile-haunted deeps of every person's psyche.
Faulkner is not everybody's cup of tea, but he happens to be my favorite American writer. While the critics and all those "best books of the century" lists consistently feature "The Sound and the Fury", "Absalom, Absalom" and maybe "As I Lay Dying" as Faulkner's major works--and I too like those books--I have always thought THE WILD PALMS a gem. An underrated, forgotten gem. Perhaps it really isn't his best novel, but still it is a work of genius. Very few novels on the world stage are composed of two completely separate stories. THE WILD PALMS consists of 1) a trans-continental love story in 1938, taking place in New Orleans, Chicago, Wisconsin, Utah, San Antonio, and the Mississippi Gulf coast, and 2) the story of one man (a prisoner) and his mighty ordeal during the Mississippi River floods of 1927. Parchman State Prison in Mississippi is the sole physical point that joins the two tales, otherwise separate in time, place, class, and impulse. But Faulkner's genius is such that the reader soon understands that the theme of both stories is the same. Faulkner's novels often focus on Fate, how the individual is caught in mysterious, giant webs of `outrageous fortune' beyond comprehension, helpless to oppose the powerful, hidden currents. The present volume is no exception. "You are born submerged in anonymous lockstep"--the main character of story #1 muses on page 54--"with the seeming anonymous myriads of your time and generation; you get out of step once, falter once, and you are trampled to death." In the first case, Wilbourne and Charlotte deviate from the usual path for love's sake, strive mightily to maintain and cherish that love, and pay an inevitable price. In the second, a convict is caught in a flood in a tiny boat when sent to save two people. He rescues one, but is swept away. He completes his mission, returning both boat and rescued woman, despite incredible hardships, only to face a certain ironic destiny. In both cases, other lives or other destinies constantly present themselves, but the protagonists refuse to alter their selected course. It is the antithesis to the Hollywood message that "you can be whatever you want in life, you just have to want it badly enough". Faulkner plumps for Destiny. A person might be, he says on page 266, "...no more than the water bug upon the surface of the pond, the plumbless and lurking depths of which he would never know..." one's only contact with such depths being when Fate is blindly accepted and played out to the bitter end. The forces of Nature, symbolized by the wild clashing of the palm fronds in the winds off the Gulf of Mexico, always outweigh the strength of human beings. The palms clash in the wind at the beginning and at the very end as well. Faulkner concludes that bearing grief, living with it, is better than suicide, better than obliterating the agonies of remembrance with a pill or bullet. Memory, however, bitter and painful, is better than nothingness. The two main characters face similar ends and those ends are a most un-optimistic metaphor for life. A most powerful novel, a novel that speaks from the crocodile-haunted deeps of every person's psyche.
December 1, 2020
“Acıyla yokluk arasında acıyı seçiyorum ben."
Çılgın Palmiyeler benim William Faulkner’dan okuduğum ilk kitap oldu. Açıkcası oldukça zorlanacağıma o kadar emindim ki ilk bölümü okuduktan sonra bir afalladım, zira oldukça rahat akan bir girişti. Ancak ikinci bölüm ile hikayenin benim sandığım kadar kolay olmayacağı gerçeği ile yüzleştim.
Kitap aslında iki ayrı öykünün birbiri ardına bölüm bölüm aktarımıyla ilerliyor. Belli bir yere kadar bu iki öykünün birleşmesini bekliyorsunuz. Ancak her ikisi de beş bölüme ayrılmış ve birbiri ardına serpiştirilmiş bu hikayelerin ilk bakışta hiçbir ortak noktaları bulunmuyor. Ortak karakterleri yok, çapraz olay örgüsü içinde değiller hatta zamanları dahi ortak değil. Yazarın kendisi de bu kitabın bir tür “kontrpuan” olduğunu ifade etmiş. Paralel akan bu iki hikaye farklı anlatı tarzları, zaman sıçramaları, sapmalar ve varoluşun iki temel noktası doğum ve ölüm ile besleniyor. Öyküler ise belirgin bir şekilde özgürlük, özgürlüğün kaybı ve insanın özgürlük algısının karşılaştırılması noktasında kesişiyor. İki erkek, iki kadın ve zıt açılarla oluşturulmuş, ayrık görünen bu iki hikaye aslında hem biçim hem de içerik olarak birbirine bağlanıyor.
Çok rahat bir okuma olmadı ancak bilinç akışı ile kahramanların hikayesi o kadar güzel bir araya getirilmiş ki o zorluğun karşılığını alıyorsunuz. Yazarın kitaplarını okumaya başlamayı planlıyorsanız ideal bir seçim olur.
4,5 ⭐️
Çılgın Palmiyeler benim William Faulkner’dan okuduğum ilk kitap oldu. Açıkcası oldukça zorlanacağıma o kadar emindim ki ilk bölümü okuduktan sonra bir afalladım, zira oldukça rahat akan bir girişti. Ancak ikinci bölüm ile hikayenin benim sandığım kadar kolay olmayacağı gerçeği ile yüzleştim.
Kitap aslında iki ayrı öykünün birbiri ardına bölüm bölüm aktarımıyla ilerliyor. Belli bir yere kadar bu iki öykünün birleşmesini bekliyorsunuz. Ancak her ikisi de beş bölüme ayrılmış ve birbiri ardına serpiştirilmiş bu hikayelerin ilk bakışta hiçbir ortak noktaları bulunmuyor. Ortak karakterleri yok, çapraz olay örgüsü içinde değiller hatta zamanları dahi ortak değil. Yazarın kendisi de bu kitabın bir tür “kontrpuan” olduğunu ifade etmiş. Paralel akan bu iki hikaye farklı anlatı tarzları, zaman sıçramaları, sapmalar ve varoluşun iki temel noktası doğum ve ölüm ile besleniyor. Öyküler ise belirgin bir şekilde özgürlük, özgürlüğün kaybı ve insanın özgürlük algısının karşılaştırılması noktasında kesişiyor. İki erkek, iki kadın ve zıt açılarla oluşturulmuş, ayrık görünen bu iki hikaye aslında hem biçim hem de içerik olarak birbirine bağlanıyor.
Çok rahat bir okuma olmadı ancak bilinç akışı ile kahramanların hikayesi o kadar güzel bir araya getirilmiş ki o zorluğun karşılığını alıyorsunuz. Yazarın kitaplarını okumaya başlamayı planlıyorsanız ideal bir seçim olur.
4,5 ⭐️
February 7, 2024
“Dicono che l’amore tra due persone muoia. È sbagliato. Non muore. Ti lascia, se ne va, se tu non sei bravo abbastanza, se non vali abbastanza. Non muore; sei tu quello che muore. È come l’oceano: se non vai bene, se cominci a dar cattivo odore, ti rigurgita in qualche posto a morire. Muori in ogni caso, ma io preferisco annegare nell’oceano piuttosto che esser gettata su una striscia di spiaggia morta e seccarmi al sole e ridurmi a una chiazza schifosa senza neanche il nome sopra, solo Questa roba fu come epitaffio.”
Garcia Marquez lo ha citato tra i suoi libri di formazione. E’ il libro che legge l’essenziale Hirayama nel recente “Perfect Days” di Wim Wenders.
Sono due storie intrecciate la cui trama non si interseca ma che condividono lo spazio in cui si svolgono per buona parte, il grande sud degli Stati Uniti e, soprattutto, il destino dei due ragazzi protagonisti, l’uno travolto da un complicato e tormentato amore, l’altro, un detenuto eroico soccorritore durante la grande piena del Mississipi.
Entrambi compiono il loro percorso di formazione e crescita, una loro collocazione nella società. Entrambi non la troveranno, ne saranno espulsi o volutamente se ne terranno fuori. Cercheranno, ciascuno a suo modo, l’amore con esiti anche in questo caso infelici. Entrambi ricordano, gli eventi e le persone che hanno incrociato nel loro percorso, perché è il ricordo, anche se doloroso, che definisce, per noi, il tempo e l’essere, altrimenti sarebbe il nulla (il titolo originale ora ripreso dagli editori inglesi evoca il ricordo con una citazione dal violentissimo salmo 137 “Se ti dimentico, Gerusalemme…”).
Due storie che turbano e caricano emotivamente. La scrittura di Faulkner, a volte ostica con quei periodi lunghissimi e puntigliosi, respira grandiosità, con alcuni passaggi magnifici.
Garcia Marquez lo ha citato tra i suoi libri di formazione. E’ il libro che legge l’essenziale Hirayama nel recente “Perfect Days” di Wim Wenders.
Sono due storie intrecciate la cui trama non si interseca ma che condividono lo spazio in cui si svolgono per buona parte, il grande sud degli Stati Uniti e, soprattutto, il destino dei due ragazzi protagonisti, l’uno travolto da un complicato e tormentato amore, l’altro, un detenuto eroico soccorritore durante la grande piena del Mississipi.
Entrambi compiono il loro percorso di formazione e crescita, una loro collocazione nella società. Entrambi non la troveranno, ne saranno espulsi o volutamente se ne terranno fuori. Cercheranno, ciascuno a suo modo, l’amore con esiti anche in questo caso infelici. Entrambi ricordano, gli eventi e le persone che hanno incrociato nel loro percorso, perché è il ricordo, anche se doloroso, che definisce, per noi, il tempo e l’essere, altrimenti sarebbe il nulla (il titolo originale ora ripreso dagli editori inglesi evoca il ricordo con una citazione dal violentissimo salmo 137 “Se ti dimentico, Gerusalemme…”).
Due storie che turbano e caricano emotivamente. La scrittura di Faulkner, a volte ostica con quei periodi lunghissimi e puntigliosi, respira grandiosità, con alcuni passaggi magnifici.
January 6, 2024
Not my favorite Faulkner by a long shot. "The Old Man" alternating chapters with "The Wild Palms" was confusing to say the least. I didn't like any of the characters and don't think Faulkner did either.
This was not one of his Yoknapatawpha novels, and I think it suffered for that. There was no soul here, no humor, no recognition of characters that we either loved, tolerated or hated. Some authors seem more alive and inspired when writing about a certain time and place. Willa Cather comes to mind; her Plains settings soar, but move the action to NY or Europe and it's just not the same. Maybe Faulkner felt an affinity for his ficticious Jefferson County because it was a part of him. When he moved outside of that his writing fell flat.
I'm certainly not a Faulkner scholar, so maybe I'm wrong. My reviews are solely based on my own perceptions, not any kind of academic analyzation.
This was not one of his Yoknapatawpha novels, and I think it suffered for that. There was no soul here, no humor, no recognition of characters that we either loved, tolerated or hated. Some authors seem more alive and inspired when writing about a certain time and place. Willa Cather comes to mind; her Plains settings soar, but move the action to NY or Europe and it's just not the same. Maybe Faulkner felt an affinity for his ficticious Jefferson County because it was a part of him. When he moved outside of that his writing fell flat.
I'm certainly not a Faulkner scholar, so maybe I'm wrong. My reviews are solely based on my own perceptions, not any kind of academic analyzation.
April 5, 2019
Her ay bir Faulkner okuma projesi ‘acaba kitap sayısını ikiye mi çıkarsam’ sorularıyla birlikte devam ediyor. Sırada Yenilmeyenler beklerken biz Çılgın Palmiyeler’e veda edelim.
Çılgın Palmiyeler iki ayrı uzun öyküden oluşan bir kitap. İlk yayınlandığında da zaten öykü kitabı olarak değerlendirilmiş. Irmak Baba ve Çılgın Palmiyeler ismiyle iki ayrı öykü olarak okunduğunda da mükemmel olan eser, karakter ve durumların bağlantı ve çelişkileri yakalandığında bir üst levele tırmanıyor. Başyapıt mı bunu zaman gösterecek ama Faulkner’ın kaleminin önünde saygıyla eğilmek için araya zaman girmesine gerek yok.
Kitap sırasıyla ÇP ve IB bölümleri şeklinde ilerliyor. Hızlı bir standart okumada ‘acaba nerede kesişecek hikaye’ hatasına düşülmesi mümkün. En baştan bu ihtimali eleyip, karakterlerin eylemleri ve pozisyonlarına odaklanmak lazım. Bu bize iki öyküyü romansılaştıran ayrıntıları, Faulkner’ın kurgudaki ustalığının boyutunu gösterecektir. Şöyle ifade etmeye çalışayım; tek başlarına ele alındığında bu hikayeleri başka bir yazardan da okuyabilirdik ancak bu sembolik ve muğlak bağlantıları kurmak her kalemin harcı değil. Buraları açmak için çok fazla spoiler vermem gerekecek ve bu kitapta bunu yapmak istemiyorum ancak; Hary ve uzun mahkum arasındaki zıtlıklar, eylemlerine neden olan pozisyonlar ve ahlaki konumlanışları eserin açılması açısından önemli.
Son olarak; Faulkner okurken esnemeyin, sonra ne oluyor şimdi diye başa sarıyorsunuz.
Ps. Telefondan bu kadar yazılıyor, siz beni bir de bilgisayar başında görün :)
Çılgın Palmiyeler iki ayrı uzun öyküden oluşan bir kitap. İlk yayınlandığında da zaten öykü kitabı olarak değerlendirilmiş. Irmak Baba ve Çılgın Palmiyeler ismiyle iki ayrı öykü olarak okunduğunda da mükemmel olan eser, karakter ve durumların bağlantı ve çelişkileri yakalandığında bir üst levele tırmanıyor. Başyapıt mı bunu zaman gösterecek ama Faulkner’ın kaleminin önünde saygıyla eğilmek için araya zaman girmesine gerek yok.
Kitap sırasıyla ÇP ve IB bölümleri şeklinde ilerliyor. Hızlı bir standart okumada ‘acaba nerede kesişecek hikaye’ hatasına düşülmesi mümkün. En baştan bu ihtimali eleyip, karakterlerin eylemleri ve pozisyonlarına odaklanmak lazım. Bu bize iki öyküyü romansılaştıran ayrıntıları, Faulkner’ın kurgudaki ustalığının boyutunu gösterecektir. Şöyle ifade etmeye çalışayım; tek başlarına ele alındığında bu hikayeleri başka bir yazardan da okuyabilirdik ancak bu sembolik ve muğlak bağlantıları kurmak her kalemin harcı değil. Buraları açmak için çok fazla spoiler vermem gerekecek ve bu kitapta bunu yapmak istemiyorum ancak; Hary ve uzun mahkum arasındaki zıtlıklar, eylemlerine neden olan pozisyonlar ve ahlaki konumlanışları eserin açılması açısından önemli.
Son olarak; Faulkner okurken esnemeyin, sonra ne oluyor şimdi diye başa sarıyorsunuz.
Ps. Telefondan bu kadar yazılıyor, siz beni bir de bilgisayar başında görün :)
March 29, 2021
[...] what he was thinking was This is too much! There are rules! Limits! [...] and what he meant was To that of love and passion and tragedy which is allowed to anyone lest he become as God Who has suffered likewise all that Satan can have known.
*
He didn’t forget that Wilbourne thought, watching it. But then he probably never forgot anything in his life except that he was alive once, must have been born alive at least. Then at that word he became aware of his heart, as though all profound terror had merely waited until he should prompt himself. He could feel the hard black wind too as he blinked after the floundering light until it passed through the hedge and vanished; he blinked steadily in the black wind, he could not stop it. My lachrymae are not functioning he thought, hearing his roaring and laboring heart. As though it were pumping sand not blood, not liquid he thought. Trying to pump it. It’s just this wind I think I cant breathe in, it’s not that I really cant breathe, find something somewhere to breathe because apparently the heart can stand anything anything anything.
*
I have made a bust even of that part of my life which I threw away he thought, motionless in the risible murmur of the waiting and unhurried wind, his head turned slightly toward the bedroom door with listening, thinking with that trivial layer of his mind which he did not need to use, So it’s not just the wind I cant breathe in so maybe forever after I have gained, earned, some little of suffocation beginning to breathe not faster but deeper, he could not stop it, each breath shallower and shallower and harder and harder and nearer and nearer the top of his lungs until in a moment it would escape the lungs altogether and there would indeed be no breath left anywhere forever, blinking steadily and painfully at the sudden granulation of his lids as though the black sand dammed forever of any moisture at which his strong heart scooped and surged were about to burst out of him through all his ducts and pores as they say the sweat of agony does,
*
“Think of her.”
“I wish I could stop. I wish I could. No I don't. Maybe that’s it. Maybe that’s the reason.…”
Maybe that was; that was the first time when he almost touched it. But not yet: and that was all right too; it would return; he would find it, hold it, when the time was ready.
*
And that was it. That was all. It fell into the quiet pattern and remained just long enough for him to see it then flowed, vanished, gone out of all remembering forever and so there was just memory, forever and inescapable, so long as there was flesh to titillate.
*
[...] and now with a preliminary murmur in the palm the light offshore breeze began, bringing with it the smell of swamps and wild jasmine, blowing on under the dying west and the bright star; it was the night. So it wasn’t just memory. Memory was just half of it, it wasn’t enough. But it must be somewhere he thought. There’s the waste. Not just me. At least I think I don't mean just me. Hope I don't mean just me. Let it be anyone thinking of, remembering, the body, the broad thighs and the hands that liked bitching and making things. It seemed so little, so little to want, to ask. With all the old graveward-creeping, the old wrinkled withered defeated clinging not even to the defeat but just to an old habit; accepting the defeat even to be allowed to cling to the habit—the wheezing lungs, the troublesome guts incapable of pleasure. But after all memory could live in the old wheezing entrails: and now it did stand to his hand, incontrovertible and plain, serene, the palm clashing and murmuring dry and wild and faint and it the night but he could face it, thinking, Not could. Will. I want to. So it is the old meat after all, no matter how old. Because if memory exists outside of the flesh it wont be memory because it wont know what it remembers so when she became not then half of memory became not and if I become not then all of remembering will cease to be.—Yes he thought Between grief and nothing I will take grief.
*
He didn’t forget that Wilbourne thought, watching it. But then he probably never forgot anything in his life except that he was alive once, must have been born alive at least. Then at that word he became aware of his heart, as though all profound terror had merely waited until he should prompt himself. He could feel the hard black wind too as he blinked after the floundering light until it passed through the hedge and vanished; he blinked steadily in the black wind, he could not stop it. My lachrymae are not functioning he thought, hearing his roaring and laboring heart. As though it were pumping sand not blood, not liquid he thought. Trying to pump it. It’s just this wind I think I cant breathe in, it’s not that I really cant breathe, find something somewhere to breathe because apparently the heart can stand anything anything anything.
*
I have made a bust even of that part of my life which I threw away he thought, motionless in the risible murmur of the waiting and unhurried wind, his head turned slightly toward the bedroom door with listening, thinking with that trivial layer of his mind which he did not need to use, So it’s not just the wind I cant breathe in so maybe forever after I have gained, earned, some little of suffocation beginning to breathe not faster but deeper, he could not stop it, each breath shallower and shallower and harder and harder and nearer and nearer the top of his lungs until in a moment it would escape the lungs altogether and there would indeed be no breath left anywhere forever, blinking steadily and painfully at the sudden granulation of his lids as though the black sand dammed forever of any moisture at which his strong heart scooped and surged were about to burst out of him through all his ducts and pores as they say the sweat of agony does,
*
“Think of her.”
“I wish I could stop. I wish I could. No I don't. Maybe that’s it. Maybe that’s the reason.…”
Maybe that was; that was the first time when he almost touched it. But not yet: and that was all right too; it would return; he would find it, hold it, when the time was ready.
*
And that was it. That was all. It fell into the quiet pattern and remained just long enough for him to see it then flowed, vanished, gone out of all remembering forever and so there was just memory, forever and inescapable, so long as there was flesh to titillate.
*
[...] and now with a preliminary murmur in the palm the light offshore breeze began, bringing with it the smell of swamps and wild jasmine, blowing on under the dying west and the bright star; it was the night. So it wasn’t just memory. Memory was just half of it, it wasn’t enough. But it must be somewhere he thought. There’s the waste. Not just me. At least I think I don't mean just me. Hope I don't mean just me. Let it be anyone thinking of, remembering, the body, the broad thighs and the hands that liked bitching and making things. It seemed so little, so little to want, to ask. With all the old graveward-creeping, the old wrinkled withered defeated clinging not even to the defeat but just to an old habit; accepting the defeat even to be allowed to cling to the habit—the wheezing lungs, the troublesome guts incapable of pleasure. But after all memory could live in the old wheezing entrails: and now it did stand to his hand, incontrovertible and plain, serene, the palm clashing and murmuring dry and wild and faint and it the night but he could face it, thinking, Not could. Will. I want to. So it is the old meat after all, no matter how old. Because if memory exists outside of the flesh it wont be memory because it wont know what it remembers so when she became not then half of memory became not and if I become not then all of remembering will cease to be.—Yes he thought Between grief and nothing I will take grief.
February 20, 2021
Много мразя да се губя в изреченията и винаги се връщам да препрочитам, дори и по няколко пъти, докато не разбера текста. Обаче тук се оставях да се губя... Доста труден за четене стил, поне за мен. С Врява и безумство не си спомням да ми е било толкова трудно...
Но книгата ми хареса. Не харесвах героите в Дивите палми, накрая не разбрах и героя в Стареца, вероятно защото винаги съм била свободна и е имало къде и при кого да се прибера. Но ми беше интересно да чета за тях. Мисля, че с времето ще оценя повече книгата.
"... втория път,когато те видях, научих онова, за което само бях чела в книгите, но никога не го бях вярвала: че любовта и страданието са едно и също и че стойността на любовта е сумата от онова, което трябва да платиш за нея, и винаги когато я получваш евтино, знай, че си измамил самия себе си."
Знам, че това "ревю" не казва нищо, но така ме остави книгата и го написах за себе си.
Но книгата ми хареса. Не харесвах героите в Дивите палми, накрая не разбрах и героя в Стареца, вероятно защото винаги съм била свободна и е имало къде и при кого да се прибера. Но ми беше интересно да чета за тях. Мисля, че с времето ще оценя повече книгата.
"... втория път,когато те видях, научих онова, за което само бях чела в книгите, но никога не го бях вярвала: че любовта и страданието са едно и също и че стойността на любовта е сумата от онова, което трябва да платиш за нея, и винаги когато я получваш евтино, знай, че си измамил самия себе си."
Знам, че това "ревю" не казва нищо, но така ме остави книгата и го написах за себе си.
October 5, 2021
My words would be but barnacles to scour off the hull of this deep-running, regal Mississippi steamer. Sheer perfection.
February 22, 2021
Като зашеметена съм от тази книга! Отдавна не бях чела роман толкова дълго и бавно. Изключително труден автор, каква история (всъщност две паралелно развити истории без привидно никаква връзка помежду си) и какъв майсторски превод на Елена Алексиева. Благодарност на изд. Лист за това издание.
Успях да си събера мислите тук:
http://knigata365.com/divite-palmi-wi...
Успях да си събера мислите тук:
http://knigata365.com/divite-palmi-wi...
November 17, 2017
Lievi anticipazioni (non più comunque di quanto appaia nel risguardo)
Generalmente prima di iniziare un nuovo libro, lo sfoglio, lo soppeso, ne leggo il risguardo - per la precisione - lo rileggo. La prima lettura era già avvenuta all'acquisto ma questa nuova è fondamentale per le precedenze, mi deve colpire in quel momento particolare in modo da indicarmi il libro da iniziare. In questo caso, però, tale lettura è stata nociva. Mi ha distratto dal godimento spontaneo del testo. Il lettore viene avvisato che i racconti sono due, ben distinti e paralleli, con nulla in comune. Allora questa è una sfida: vuoi non trovare un filo conduttore? E si cercano le somiglianze rischiando di perdere la poesia dell'onda del fiume che risucchia e lo sferzare delle palme al vento. I conti con la Natura sono sempre dovuti, la sfida dell'uomo è impari, soccombe. Fortunatamente la scrittura di Faulkner è così bella, è così una bella scrittura che fa dimenticare la volontà di indagine e ci si abbandona al suo ritmo. Progressivamente si riescono a comprendere le motivazioni delle persone - non personaggi - incomprensibili al primo approccio. Quando si legge l'ultima pagina, non si sente la necessità di capire perché Faulkner abbia alternato un capitolo di una storia con il capitolo dell'altra, è evidente che ciò che le lega è la contrapposizione della volontà dei diversi protagonisti: nascita/ristabilire un vecchio ordine di cose nel primo racconto, aborto/cambiamento nel secondo. Il fallimento è comunque comune ad entrambi. Leggetevelo, leggetevelo il rammarico del forzato nelle ultime parole del libro, e il dolore di una vita sprecata, prima e dopo, del dottorino... Ignoranza e immaturità, queste le colpe, alleggerite dal solito senso dell'umorismo di Faulkner: come si può non ridere a pag. 246?
E questa è la prima cosa tradotta in parole, misere, da quando ho chiuso il libro pochi minuti fa, molte frullano nel cervellino, ma le tengo per me, Faulkner non può essere raccontato, è uno spreco, va annusato in prima persona.
1956, Mississipi 1897-1962
Generalmente prima di iniziare un nuovo libro, lo sfoglio, lo soppeso, ne leggo il risguardo - per la precisione - lo rileggo. La prima lettura era già avvenuta all'acquisto ma questa nuova è fondamentale per le precedenze, mi deve colpire in quel momento particolare in modo da indicarmi il libro da iniziare. In questo caso, però, tale lettura è stata nociva. Mi ha distratto dal godimento spontaneo del testo. Il lettore viene avvisato che i racconti sono due, ben distinti e paralleli, con nulla in comune. Allora questa è una sfida: vuoi non trovare un filo conduttore? E si cercano le somiglianze rischiando di perdere la poesia dell'onda del fiume che risucchia e lo sferzare delle palme al vento. I conti con la Natura sono sempre dovuti, la sfida dell'uomo è impari, soccombe. Fortunatamente la scrittura di Faulkner è così bella, è così una bella scrittura che fa dimenticare la volontà di indagine e ci si abbandona al suo ritmo. Progressivamente si riescono a comprendere le motivazioni delle persone - non personaggi - incomprensibili al primo approccio. Quando si legge l'ultima pagina, non si sente la necessità di capire perché Faulkner abbia alternato un capitolo di una storia con il capitolo dell'altra, è evidente che ciò che le lega è la contrapposizione della volontà dei diversi protagonisti: nascita/ristabilire un vecchio ordine di cose nel primo racconto, aborto/cambiamento nel secondo. Il fallimento è comunque comune ad entrambi. Leggetevelo, leggetevelo il rammarico del forzato nelle ultime parole del libro, e il dolore di una vita sprecata, prima e dopo, del dottorino... Ignoranza e immaturità, queste le colpe, alleggerite dal solito senso dell'umorismo di Faulkner: come si può non ridere a pag. 246?
E questa è la prima cosa tradotta in parole, misere, da quando ho chiuso il libro pochi minuti fa, molte frullano nel cervellino, ma le tengo per me, Faulkner non può essere raccontato, è uno spreco, va annusato in prima persona.
1956, Mississipi 1897-1962
February 18, 2025
La novela consta de dos historias que son diferentes unas de otras. Dialécticas que nunca han sido nuevas para William Faulkner: el escritor decidió entrelazar dos historias para hacer luego una composición única. Particularidades del escritor que más tarde se convertiría en su estilo de escritura.
Más que una reflexión o un análisis del texto vale la pena comentar la traducción actual. El trabajo de traducción de Bruno Fonzi se remonta en año 1956 y fue dictado por dos razones: una fisiológica, y la otra se puede decir de proprio gusto.
De la primera pronto se dice: el texto en el que trabajaba el traductor no corresponde con lo que fue encontrado por los críticos. Desde la publicación del libro confirmado posteriormente por dos generaciones de especialistas que basaron sus estudios sobre el texto. Aparte del cambio del título original: If I Forget Thee, Jerusalem con el título actual The Wild Palms, impuesto por el editor para evitar que el tema tratado en vez de ser una novela pudiera haber llegado a ser un tema bíblico, a finales de los años treinta a la escritura se hicieron una serie de cambios y recortes. Errores, pero también interpretaciones! Lo cual, además de alterar el texto estas interpretaciones lo hicieron ininteligible: la redacción lo hizo con la intención de no afectar aún más a la audiencia de lectores, cosa que también ocurrió con una gran oportunidad de desdén moralista.
El segundo orden tenía como objetivo atenuar el gusto de una traducción. Si se desea, una buena traducción que se remonta hace medio siglo: de esta versión en el texto se eliminó el "usted" para reemplazarlo con "él". Y cuando el contexto lo sugirió la oportunidad del usó del "tú". Algunos malentendidos se han corregido desde el inglés y la puntuación del texto original ha sido restaurada. Se han intentado diferencias en los registros lingüísticos entre los distintos elementos. Eso para devolver a los personajes más pobre un equivalente "bajos" sobre el hablado original: en ese sentido, la característica del fraseo de aliento ancho del discurso faulkneriano se ha liberado de toda su aireada complejidad.
En la traducción de la copia preparada por William Faulkner (cf. William Faulkner Manuscripts 14, volumen II, editado por Thomas L. McHaney, Garland, Nueva York, 1986) se consideró apropiado que el texto escrito estuviera en consonancia con el texto original en su integridad. Debido al escritor estadounidense, es porque fue una de las obras más importantes: en este sentido la revisión se realizó sobre la tipografía del autor, con la comparación donde sea necesario del manuscrito ológrafo.
Más que una reflexión o un análisis del texto vale la pena comentar la traducción actual. El trabajo de traducción de Bruno Fonzi se remonta en año 1956 y fue dictado por dos razones: una fisiológica, y la otra se puede decir de proprio gusto.
De la primera pronto se dice: el texto en el que trabajaba el traductor no corresponde con lo que fue encontrado por los críticos. Desde la publicación del libro confirmado posteriormente por dos generaciones de especialistas que basaron sus estudios sobre el texto. Aparte del cambio del título original: If I Forget Thee, Jerusalem con el título actual The Wild Palms, impuesto por el editor para evitar que el tema tratado en vez de ser una novela pudiera haber llegado a ser un tema bíblico, a finales de los años treinta a la escritura se hicieron una serie de cambios y recortes. Errores, pero también interpretaciones! Lo cual, además de alterar el texto estas interpretaciones lo hicieron ininteligible: la redacción lo hizo con la intención de no afectar aún más a la audiencia de lectores, cosa que también ocurrió con una gran oportunidad de desdén moralista.
El segundo orden tenía como objetivo atenuar el gusto de una traducción. Si se desea, una buena traducción que se remonta hace medio siglo: de esta versión en el texto se eliminó el "usted" para reemplazarlo con "él". Y cuando el contexto lo sugirió la oportunidad del usó del "tú". Algunos malentendidos se han corregido desde el inglés y la puntuación del texto original ha sido restaurada. Se han intentado diferencias en los registros lingüísticos entre los distintos elementos. Eso para devolver a los personajes más pobre un equivalente "bajos" sobre el hablado original: en ese sentido, la característica del fraseo de aliento ancho del discurso faulkneriano se ha liberado de toda su aireada complejidad.
En la traducción de la copia preparada por William Faulkner (cf. William Faulkner Manuscripts 14, volumen II, editado por Thomas L. McHaney, Garland, Nueva York, 1986) se consideró apropiado que el texto escrito estuviera en consonancia con el texto original en su integridad. Debido al escritor estadounidense, es porque fue una de las obras más importantes: en este sentido la revisión se realizó sobre la tipografía del autor, con la comparación donde sea necesario del manuscrito ológrafo.
September 20, 2020
Due storie raccontate in parallelo e che trattano due vicende lontanissime una dall'altra: Palme selvagge e Il vecchio.
La prima narra le vicende di due amanti adulterini che cercano di vivere la loro relazione fuori dalle convenzioni, dal denaro e dai luoghi comuni della società, consapevoli di combattere una battaglia persa in partenza perché, come dice Charlotte, "naturalmente non posiamo batterli, naturalmente noi siamo condannati."
La seconda è la storia di un carcerato al quale durante un'inondazione del Mississippi viene affidato l'incarico di salvare dalle acque una donna incinta e che rifiuterà l'occasione di evadere per portare a termine il suo compito "cercando soltanto di mantenere a galla la barca finché poteva". È il racconto di un uomo che "voleva così poco. Non voleva nulla per sé. Voleva soltanto liberarsi della donna, di quel ventre, e stava cercando di farlo nella maniera giusta, non per se stesso, ma per lei".
Sono due storie dure, cupe, senza lieto fine, nelle quali assistiamo all' inesorabile scivolare dei protagonisti dentro alle loro vite seppure in maniera difforme: ne Le palme selvagge lottando, invano, per sottrarsi al destino e ne Il vecchio rinunciando in partenza a combattere.
Con un ricorso frequente al flusso di coscienza, ai periodi lunghi e al cambiamento dei punti di vista, l'autore disegna atmosfere cupe che incombono sui personaggi e danno un senso di inevitabilità alla loro sconfitta. La penna di Faulkner scruta nell'animo di protagonisti e figure minori con abilità dostoevskijana restituendoci una serie di caratteri quanto mai complessi e intriganti e indagando con la stessa lucidità del maestro russo la crisi dell'uomo all'interno della crisi della società, utilizzando la Natura, a tratti ostile, a tratti indifferente ma mai partecipe delle sofferenze dei personaggi per sottolineare la durezza delle loro vite.
I due racconti sembrano scritti uno in antitesi all'altro: se nel primo si parla di due persone che cercano di fuggire dalla società, nel secondo c'è un carcerato che lotta per tornare indietro, se i due amanti infrangono le leggi, il detenuto cerca di rispettarle, se gli adulteri cercano l'amore, il carcerato lo rifiuta dopo essere stato scottato… eppure le analogie sono molte di più delle contraddizioni e Faulkner è il solito pianista che gioca con i tasti evitando la cacofonia e riuscendo a tirar fuori una sinfonia da suoni che sembrano contrastanti.
Quello che accomuna i due protagonisti è la voglia di rispondere solo al senso di responsabilità verso se stessi e non al sentire comune, un andare contro corrente che finiranno per pagare in prima persona. Ciò che alla fine rimane a Harry e al vecchio carcerato sarà solo il ricordo, l'unico spazio nel quale immaginare di sentirsi liberi per dare un senso alla loro sconfitta.
La prima narra le vicende di due amanti adulterini che cercano di vivere la loro relazione fuori dalle convenzioni, dal denaro e dai luoghi comuni della società, consapevoli di combattere una battaglia persa in partenza perché, come dice Charlotte, "naturalmente non posiamo batterli, naturalmente noi siamo condannati."
La seconda è la storia di un carcerato al quale durante un'inondazione del Mississippi viene affidato l'incarico di salvare dalle acque una donna incinta e che rifiuterà l'occasione di evadere per portare a termine il suo compito "cercando soltanto di mantenere a galla la barca finché poteva". È il racconto di un uomo che "voleva così poco. Non voleva nulla per sé. Voleva soltanto liberarsi della donna, di quel ventre, e stava cercando di farlo nella maniera giusta, non per se stesso, ma per lei".
Sono due storie dure, cupe, senza lieto fine, nelle quali assistiamo all' inesorabile scivolare dei protagonisti dentro alle loro vite seppure in maniera difforme: ne Le palme selvagge lottando, invano, per sottrarsi al destino e ne Il vecchio rinunciando in partenza a combattere.
Con un ricorso frequente al flusso di coscienza, ai periodi lunghi e al cambiamento dei punti di vista, l'autore disegna atmosfere cupe che incombono sui personaggi e danno un senso di inevitabilità alla loro sconfitta. La penna di Faulkner scruta nell'animo di protagonisti e figure minori con abilità dostoevskijana restituendoci una serie di caratteri quanto mai complessi e intriganti e indagando con la stessa lucidità del maestro russo la crisi dell'uomo all'interno della crisi della società, utilizzando la Natura, a tratti ostile, a tratti indifferente ma mai partecipe delle sofferenze dei personaggi per sottolineare la durezza delle loro vite.
I due racconti sembrano scritti uno in antitesi all'altro: se nel primo si parla di due persone che cercano di fuggire dalla società, nel secondo c'è un carcerato che lotta per tornare indietro, se i due amanti infrangono le leggi, il detenuto cerca di rispettarle, se gli adulteri cercano l'amore, il carcerato lo rifiuta dopo essere stato scottato… eppure le analogie sono molte di più delle contraddizioni e Faulkner è il solito pianista che gioca con i tasti evitando la cacofonia e riuscendo a tirar fuori una sinfonia da suoni che sembrano contrastanti.
Quello che accomuna i due protagonisti è la voglia di rispondere solo al senso di responsabilità verso se stessi e non al sentire comune, un andare contro corrente che finiranno per pagare in prima persona. Ciò che alla fine rimane a Harry e al vecchio carcerato sarà solo il ricordo, l'unico spazio nel quale immaginare di sentirsi liberi per dare un senso alla loro sconfitta.
September 24, 2021
,,...čovek može dugo da živi prilično srećan od iluzija. Možda je on jedino tad srećan."
Divni, divni Fokner. Ukoliko se niste upoznali s njegovim stvaralaštvom, strujom svesti, rasparčanom hronologijom, iscepkanim rečenicama punim nagoveštaja i narativom zbog kog vam se čini da slobodu vaših ruku u širokom, vedrim nebom natkriljenom moru, otežava kakav umršeni lanac, veliko sidro duboko uronjeno u svet korala i algi ako, dakle, to do sada niste upoznali, a imate želju, onda je ovo knjiga baš za vas.
Divni, divni Fokner. Ukoliko se niste upoznali s njegovim stvaralaštvom, strujom svesti, rasparčanom hronologijom, iscepkanim rečenicama punim nagoveštaja i narativom zbog kog vam se čini da slobodu vaših ruku u širokom, vedrim nebom natkriljenom moru, otežava kakav umršeni lanac, veliko sidro duboko uronjeno u svet korala i algi ako, dakle, to do sada niste upoznali, a imate želju, onda je ovo knjiga baš za vas.
May 17, 2009
This is a Faulkner must-read, but not without some problems. "Wild Palms" is as modernist a novel as anything by Virginia Woolf. The alternating stories - which seem to have no surface relationship whatsoever, is daring and artsy stuff. But does it work? The "Wild Palms" portion tells the story of two lovers, one who is married, who cast everything to the wind in order to live a bohemian life devoted to Love. I noticed one reviewer commented that theirs was a selfless love. Quite the contrary. Oh, within their bubble, Charlotte and Harry are as devoted to each other as Dante's Paolo and Francesca. And like those two, Harry and Charlotte are immolated within their own choices, their own lusts. The impact on others is never a real consideration, as they act out, with heroic resolve, their devotion - to Love. There are passages within the Wild Palms portion that are simply soaring in their beauty. It will have you recalling A Farewell to Arms, especially the part that takes place in the Western mountains.
Old Man, which is much anthologized and thus regrettably removed from the context of this novel, in contrast to the tragic Wild Palms, is almost like low comedy - Faulkner style. There is of course powerful writing - especially the great descriptions of the Flood, that sounds like a King James appendix from Genesis. What's interesting is how the characters of Old Man are never really revealed as they are in Wild Palms. The poor convict, who shepherds the woman and her infant child along, is always having bad stuff happen to him. And he deals with it. And the woman herself, you hardly even know. She's a presence, a responsibility, a reminder if you will, of perhaps a higher order that we as humans should respond to. The two operate as archetypes more than multi-faceted characters, but archetypes have great power, as any reader of the Bible knows. On the other hand, Charlotte and Harry serve only themselves, and we are intensely aware of every shift in emotion -- and its cause. Faulkner clearly was aware of this contrast, and how you chew on it will determine what you think of the novel - and it is a novel, not just two separate stories. Faulkner links the two with Hope, as Harry makes a choice while looking through the prison bars at the end: Grief is better than nothing, which is a no-brainer for the convict of Old Man. What is also interesting is how Faulkner timed the portions. Wild Palms, which starts the book, takes place in 1937. Old Man takes place in 1927. Only ten years separates the two, but the time of Old Man is already nearly a mythic one, much like the Old Testament. The 1937 portion is hardly New Testament, and more likely an indictment from Faulkner. The modern world, with all its dehumanizing aspects, presses down and around Harry and Charlotte. There is No Exit - except the one they've sworn to as a couple. And there is something in that, however charged with Right and Wrong such a choice may be. At least Harry and Charlotte are still human. Read it.
Old Man, which is much anthologized and thus regrettably removed from the context of this novel, in contrast to the tragic Wild Palms, is almost like low comedy - Faulkner style. There is of course powerful writing - especially the great descriptions of the Flood, that sounds like a King James appendix from Genesis. What's interesting is how the characters of Old Man are never really revealed as they are in Wild Palms. The poor convict, who shepherds the woman and her infant child along, is always having bad stuff happen to him. And he deals with it. And the woman herself, you hardly even know. She's a presence, a responsibility, a reminder if you will, of perhaps a higher order that we as humans should respond to. The two operate as archetypes more than multi-faceted characters, but archetypes have great power, as any reader of the Bible knows. On the other hand, Charlotte and Harry serve only themselves, and we are intensely aware of every shift in emotion -- and its cause. Faulkner clearly was aware of this contrast, and how you chew on it will determine what you think of the novel - and it is a novel, not just two separate stories. Faulkner links the two with Hope, as Harry makes a choice while looking through the prison bars at the end: Grief is better than nothing, which is a no-brainer for the convict of Old Man. What is also interesting is how Faulkner timed the portions. Wild Palms, which starts the book, takes place in 1937. Old Man takes place in 1927. Only ten years separates the two, but the time of Old Man is already nearly a mythic one, much like the Old Testament. The 1937 portion is hardly New Testament, and more likely an indictment from Faulkner. The modern world, with all its dehumanizing aspects, presses down and around Harry and Charlotte. There is No Exit - except the one they've sworn to as a couple. And there is something in that, however charged with Right and Wrong such a choice may be. At least Harry and Charlotte are still human. Read it.
August 21, 2009
There he is, the Old Man, the river that is something of a deity in the American South. The muddy water that threatens and nurtures and has a will and a force that can not be predicted or tamed, even in our time.
In this book you have a prisoner struggling against the whims of the Mississippi. Convicts are enlisted to rescue stranded peasants. A tall convict is asked if he can row a boat, he says he can, probably because he doesn't know what he is promising. The point is made that this convict alive in 1927, has plowed, lived on, and eaten from land irrigated by this river all of his life but sees it for the first time only after he is already grown and served many years in prison. That revelation is startling, but it must have been true of many in that time and place. And that river, which he has in his blood, is threatening him from the moment he sets down on its surface in his little rowboat.
In this book you also have a man and a woman discovering a threatening love, and you could say that love is threatening them the moment they set down upon it in their little bodies. They are in New Orleans (a city built on the run off of the Old Man) in 1937. Their story opens the book and Faulkner's sentences have a strong current of their own. The words he uses flood your senses and you have to be a swift paddler to keep from being overturned or dashed against some obstacle (inevitable, and not so bad). These two don't actually float around on the river (they go to Wisconsin, Illinois and Utah instead)but like the convict, the river is in their blood.
The two lovers have a threatening love because it is one great blinding demand, with no concern for civilized life. No marriage, employment, or child can survive it. They accept the violent demand of this love with a thrilling lack of experience. And the two personalities that Faulkner reveals in the lovers are the ideal vessels for such a love. A young medical student, in debt from birth and a remarkable woman of decisive action and words.
The tall convict has his woman too, he takes her into his boat, a stranded woman great with child, and they search for any mercy they can along the river. The convict is so ignorant of everything outside of his prison that his common struggles against the elements become like dazzling mythology. Faulkner makes you feel the suffering of the convict, who really becomes no wiser in his adventures, but what he has is the stamina of the long-suffering prisoner. Eventually he is hunting for ancient reptiles with a Cajun of the Atchfalaya. You can imagine how puzzling and scary this would be to someone who never heard of alligators or Cajuns, largely because Faulkner dispenses with all conventions of perspective and lets you feel the story from many angles.
A very unique and remarkable book. I never knew Faulkner was capable of this. Thanks to Steve Harris for getting me interested in reading this.
In this book you have a prisoner struggling against the whims of the Mississippi. Convicts are enlisted to rescue stranded peasants. A tall convict is asked if he can row a boat, he says he can, probably because he doesn't know what he is promising. The point is made that this convict alive in 1927, has plowed, lived on, and eaten from land irrigated by this river all of his life but sees it for the first time only after he is already grown and served many years in prison. That revelation is startling, but it must have been true of many in that time and place. And that river, which he has in his blood, is threatening him from the moment he sets down on its surface in his little rowboat.
In this book you also have a man and a woman discovering a threatening love, and you could say that love is threatening them the moment they set down upon it in their little bodies. They are in New Orleans (a city built on the run off of the Old Man) in 1937. Their story opens the book and Faulkner's sentences have a strong current of their own. The words he uses flood your senses and you have to be a swift paddler to keep from being overturned or dashed against some obstacle (inevitable, and not so bad). These two don't actually float around on the river (they go to Wisconsin, Illinois and Utah instead)but like the convict, the river is in their blood.
The two lovers have a threatening love because it is one great blinding demand, with no concern for civilized life. No marriage, employment, or child can survive it. They accept the violent demand of this love with a thrilling lack of experience. And the two personalities that Faulkner reveals in the lovers are the ideal vessels for such a love. A young medical student, in debt from birth and a remarkable woman of decisive action and words.
The tall convict has his woman too, he takes her into his boat, a stranded woman great with child, and they search for any mercy they can along the river. The convict is so ignorant of everything outside of his prison that his common struggles against the elements become like dazzling mythology. Faulkner makes you feel the suffering of the convict, who really becomes no wiser in his adventures, but what he has is the stamina of the long-suffering prisoner. Eventually he is hunting for ancient reptiles with a Cajun of the Atchfalaya. You can imagine how puzzling and scary this would be to someone who never heard of alligators or Cajuns, largely because Faulkner dispenses with all conventions of perspective and lets you feel the story from many angles.
A very unique and remarkable book. I never knew Faulkner was capable of this. Thanks to Steve Harris for getting me interested in reading this.
September 29, 2017
"Faulkner si mette a scrivere un romanzo tutto e soltanto d'amore, un amore ineluttabile e delirante, e s'accorge improvvisamente che quella storia, agitata e reclusa nel proprio tema fino alla perdizione, ha bisogno di un'antitesi, di un'altra storia che la sollevi, qualcosa come il contrappunto in musica". (Alfredo Giuliani su Le palme selvagge)
Faulkner è capace di tutto, nel bene e nel male, di sfiancare il lettore con una sola pagina di aggettivi (Assalonne, Assalonne) in un lungo immoto estenuato afoso pomeriggio... Per poi riprenderselo in passaggi compassionevoli.
Capace di frasi aspre sulle donne dette da donne: "Vieni a letto con me soltanto perché qualcuno ti ha ricordato che sotto il ventre mi biforco?" (Le palme selvagge)
Capace nello stesso libro di svolazzi come questo: "E poi verrà l'autunno, il primo freddo, le prime foglie gialle e rosse cadranno, le foglie doppie, quella che risale col vento a incontrare quella che cade finché si toccano e vibrano un poco, senza combaciare perfettamente. E allora puoi aprire gli occhi per un minuto, se vuoi, se te ne ricordi, e osservare l'ombra delle foglie oscillanti sul petto che ti sta vicino".
Le due storie raccontate ne Le palme selvagge (1939) hanno diverse affinità, il mondo di Faulkner è tutto inscritto nella frase "tra il dolore e il nulla sceglierò il dolore". Il lettore talvolta ne farebbe a meno di Faulkner, impetuoso, sempre sul punto di fare il passo più lungo della gamba, ma non può non riconoscere che Faulkner è un prodigio spaventoso di forza espressiva.
Palme selvagge è la storia di un medico neolaureato e di una donna che abbandona suo marito, dicendoglielo, e le sue due figlie piccole, per fuggire con quest'uomo incredulo, frastornato, inesperto della vita. Si conoscono a una festa il giorno in cui lui compie 27 anni e da qui iniziano le tormentate vicissitudini.
La storia si intreccia a capitoli alterni con quella di un giovane detenuto che nel corso dell'inondazione del Mississippi viene mandato alla ricerca di una donna incinta, aggrappata a un albero semisommerso, l'aiuta a partorire e se ne torna in galera.
Sarebbe facile sostenere che entrambi gli uomini dei due racconti lunghi finiscono per scontare la stessa pena, in galera, per non aver saputo affrontare le donne che hanno conosciuto fino a commettere fatali fesserie. Faulkner non è così piatto, mai. Lui stesso, come si narra dalle biografie, da ragazzino era innamorato di una ragazza, Estelle Oldham, ma quando chiese la sua mano i genitori di lei, sospettandolo un poco di buono, fecero in modo che lei sposasse un avvocato. Dieci anni dopo lei divorziò e sposò Faulkner, ma il sogno adolescenziale si rivelò più sfibrante e furioso dei suoi stessi libri, non andarono mai d'accordo.
"Dicono che l'amore tra due persone muore. È sbagliato. Non muore. Ti lascia, se ne va, se tu non sei bravo abbastanza, se non vali abbastanza. Non muore, sei tu quello che muore". (Le palme selvagge, pag.102)
Faulkner è capace di tutto, nel bene e nel male, di sfiancare il lettore con una sola pagina di aggettivi (Assalonne, Assalonne) in un lungo immoto estenuato afoso pomeriggio... Per poi riprenderselo in passaggi compassionevoli.
Capace di frasi aspre sulle donne dette da donne: "Vieni a letto con me soltanto perché qualcuno ti ha ricordato che sotto il ventre mi biforco?" (Le palme selvagge)
Capace nello stesso libro di svolazzi come questo: "E poi verrà l'autunno, il primo freddo, le prime foglie gialle e rosse cadranno, le foglie doppie, quella che risale col vento a incontrare quella che cade finché si toccano e vibrano un poco, senza combaciare perfettamente. E allora puoi aprire gli occhi per un minuto, se vuoi, se te ne ricordi, e osservare l'ombra delle foglie oscillanti sul petto che ti sta vicino".
Le due storie raccontate ne Le palme selvagge (1939) hanno diverse affinità, il mondo di Faulkner è tutto inscritto nella frase "tra il dolore e il nulla sceglierò il dolore". Il lettore talvolta ne farebbe a meno di Faulkner, impetuoso, sempre sul punto di fare il passo più lungo della gamba, ma non può non riconoscere che Faulkner è un prodigio spaventoso di forza espressiva.
Palme selvagge è la storia di un medico neolaureato e di una donna che abbandona suo marito, dicendoglielo, e le sue due figlie piccole, per fuggire con quest'uomo incredulo, frastornato, inesperto della vita. Si conoscono a una festa il giorno in cui lui compie 27 anni e da qui iniziano le tormentate vicissitudini.
La storia si intreccia a capitoli alterni con quella di un giovane detenuto che nel corso dell'inondazione del Mississippi viene mandato alla ricerca di una donna incinta, aggrappata a un albero semisommerso, l'aiuta a partorire e se ne torna in galera.
Sarebbe facile sostenere che entrambi gli uomini dei due racconti lunghi finiscono per scontare la stessa pena, in galera, per non aver saputo affrontare le donne che hanno conosciuto fino a commettere fatali fesserie. Faulkner non è così piatto, mai. Lui stesso, come si narra dalle biografie, da ragazzino era innamorato di una ragazza, Estelle Oldham, ma quando chiese la sua mano i genitori di lei, sospettandolo un poco di buono, fecero in modo che lei sposasse un avvocato. Dieci anni dopo lei divorziò e sposò Faulkner, ma il sogno adolescenziale si rivelò più sfibrante e furioso dei suoi stessi libri, non andarono mai d'accordo.
"Dicono che l'amore tra due persone muore. È sbagliato. Non muore. Ti lascia, se ne va, se tu non sei bravo abbastanza, se non vali abbastanza. Non muore, sei tu quello che muore". (Le palme selvagge, pag.102)
October 6, 2019
Tra il dolore e il nulla sceglierò il dolore
Due romanzi brevi Wild palms e Old Man a capitoli alternati ,formano questo libro dalla struttura insolita. Faulkner ha spiegato questa sua scelta - che all'inizio disorienta ed è faticosa per chi legge - con la necessità di creare una sorta di contrappunto .
E in effetti,man mano che si procede nelle storie, si apprezza sempre di più il parallelismo
Sono due diversi tentativi umani di vivere in un ambiente ostile, con sforzi contrari dei protagonisti,
gli amanti cercano di sfuggire ad un mondo di sicurezza e di rispettabilità per evitare che il loro amore finisca nel vuoto di un'esistenza convenzionale
il detenuto,invece, precipitato in una natura scatenata e incontrollabile ,sogna di tornare nella sicurezza e nell'ordine della prigione;
gli amanti ripudiano il loro dovere sociale(famiglia per lei e professione medica per lui) per realizzare il loro amore, il detenuto invece ha uno strenuo senso del dovere (fino all'ultimo difende la barca ,nel desiderio di tornare indietro)
C'è chi sceglie il suo destino e chi lo subisce senza opporsi e poterlo cambiare
Colpiscono nel segno le descrizioni potenti della natura , con lo stile inconfondibile di W.F.
( si svegliò all'alba ,alla debole luce il cielo appariva color giunchiglia, la nebbia bassa ,spessa come cotone battuto )
e quel dolore umano ,che strazia e travolge , del tutto simile alla forza prorompente dell'inondazione che infuria su una piccola barca
4 stelle !
Due romanzi brevi Wild palms e Old Man a capitoli alternati ,formano questo libro dalla struttura insolita. Faulkner ha spiegato questa sua scelta - che all'inizio disorienta ed è faticosa per chi legge - con la necessità di creare una sorta di contrappunto .
E in effetti,man mano che si procede nelle storie, si apprezza sempre di più il parallelismo
Sono due diversi tentativi umani di vivere in un ambiente ostile, con sforzi contrari dei protagonisti,
gli amanti cercano di sfuggire ad un mondo di sicurezza e di rispettabilità per evitare che il loro amore finisca nel vuoto di un'esistenza convenzionale
il detenuto,invece, precipitato in una natura scatenata e incontrollabile ,sogna di tornare nella sicurezza e nell'ordine della prigione;
gli amanti ripudiano il loro dovere sociale(famiglia per lei e professione medica per lui) per realizzare il loro amore, il detenuto invece ha uno strenuo senso del dovere (fino all'ultimo difende la barca ,nel desiderio di tornare indietro)
C'è chi sceglie il suo destino e chi lo subisce senza opporsi e poterlo cambiare
Colpiscono nel segno le descrizioni potenti della natura , con lo stile inconfondibile di W.F.
( si svegliò all'alba ,alla debole luce il cielo appariva color giunchiglia, la nebbia bassa ,spessa come cotone battuto )
e quel dolore umano ,che strazia e travolge , del tutto simile alla forza prorompente dell'inondazione che infuria su una piccola barca
4 stelle !
May 18, 2020
ნებისმიერი ნაწარმოების სხვა ენაზე გადათარგმნა გულის უმძიმეს ოპერაციას ჰგავს.
ამ ურთულეს პროცესს ან წარმატებით გაართმევ თავს, ან ჩაფლავდები - ფიასკოს განიცდი, რასაც ფატალურ შედეგამდეც მიყავხარ.
არაა მარტივი წიგნისთვის ახალი სიცოცხლის შთაბერვა, მით უმეტეს, თუკი საქმე უილიამ ფოლკნერს ეხება.
ზაზა ჭილაძე არის ძალიან მაგარი ადამიანი, რომელმაც ზუსტად მოახერხა ამ გენიალური ამერიკელის „მოხელთება“.
თითოეული სიტყვა, თითოეული წინადადება...
ყველაფერი ულამაზესი სიზუსტით ებმის ერთმანეთს და ო��� განსხვავებულ სიუჟეტურ ხაზს ქმნის.
„ველური პალმები“ და „ბერიკაცი“.
არც არაფრით ჰგავს ეს ორი ისტორია ერთმანეთს, არის კი ასე?
ჩვეულებრივი, ძალიან ორდინალური პერსონაჟები, რომლებიც თითქოს ჭაობის ფსკერიდან ამობობღებას ცდილობენ, ცდილობენ იბრძოლონ, ცდილობენ არ შეეპუონ ბედს...
სადამდე მივყავართ ამ ბრძოლას?
ვინ იცის, იქნებ უარეს განსაცდელამდე.
ველური პალმების შრიალს კი მთელი ნაწარმოების მიმდინარეობისას გრძნობ.
თითქმის შეუმჩნეველია თავიდან ეს შრიალი, სანამ სრულ ხმაურში, გნებავთ მძვინვარებაში არ გადაიზრდება.
ჰარი უილბურნი, ფრენსის რიტენმეიერი, შარლოტი და პატიმარი.
ეს იმ პერსონაჟთა ჩამონათვალია, რომელნიც წიგნის დახურვას შემდეგ სრულიად გაკარგავინებენ მოსვენებას.
ჩვეულებრივი ყოფითი პრობლემები, ოღონდ ფრიად უჩვეულო სტილით
გადმოცემული.
რომ შევაჯამოთ, პერსონაჟების ასეთ კომბინაციას ვიღებთ:
ორი ცხოვრებისგან დაღდასმული პატიმარი,
ავანტიურისტი შარლოტი და
დამყოლი რიტენმეიერი...
მოგონებენი კი ერთიანად წამყვან როლს თამაშობენ ორივე სიუჟეტურ მიმდინარეობაში.
შარლოტის პერსონაჟს ცალსახად ვერ შეაფასებ.
თითქოს შეუძლია სიყვარული, თითქოს მაინც ჩვეულებრივი მატერეალისტია.
ჰარი...
ჰარი გამოუცდელი ბავშვივითაა, შეცდომის დაშვებისას ხელები რომ უკანკალებს.
დედას უფრო რომ ეძებს, ვიდრე ცხოვრებისეულ პარტნიორს.
პატიმარი ცხოვრებას შეგუებული კაცის ხატებაა/უიღბლო კაცის ხატება.
ერთი სიტყვით, ამ წიგნის გამორჩეულეობას ვერ გადმოსცემ ასე, ლიტონი სიტყვების ბრახუნით.
თავადვე უნდა შეიგრძნოთ !
პ.ს.
ავტორის სიდიადეზე აღარაფერს ვიტყვი, ვფიქრობ, ყველასთვის ცხადია ყველაფერი.
პ.პ.ს. მორჩა, მეტჯერ აღარ გავაკეთებ რედაქტირებას. 💁🏻♂️
მოკლედ, ახლა მოვკეტავ!
იმხელა ცნობიერების ნაკადი დამიგროვდა ტვინში... შევიკავებ, ვეცდები მაინც.
ამ ურთულეს პროცესს ან წარმატებით გაართმევ თავს, ან ჩაფლავდები - ფიასკოს განიცდი, რასაც ფატალურ შედეგამდეც მიყავხარ.
არაა მარტივი წიგნისთვის ახალი სიცოცხლის შთაბერვა, მით უმეტეს, თუკი საქმე უილიამ ფოლკნერს ეხება.
ზაზა ჭილაძე არის ძალიან მაგარი ადამიანი, რომელმაც ზუსტად მოახერხა ამ გენიალური ამერიკელის „მოხელთება“.
თითოეული სიტყვა, თითოეული წინადადება...
ყველაფერი ულამაზესი სიზუსტით ებმის ერთმანეთს და ო��� განსხვავებულ სიუჟეტურ ხაზს ქმნის.
„ველური პალმები“ და „ბერიკაცი“.
არც არაფრით ჰგავს ეს ორი ისტორია ერთმანეთს, არის კი ასე?
ჩვეულებრივი, ძალიან ორდინალური პერსონაჟები, რომლებიც თითქოს ჭაობის ფსკერიდან ამობობღებას ცდილობენ, ცდილობენ იბრძოლონ, ცდილობენ არ შეეპუონ ბედს...
სადამდე მივყავართ ამ ბრძოლას?
ვინ იცის, იქნებ უარეს განსაცდელამდე.
ველური პალმების შრიალს კი მთელი ნაწარმოების მიმდინარეობისას გრძნობ.
თითქმის შეუმჩნეველია თავიდან ეს შრიალი, სანამ სრულ ხმაურში, გნებავთ მძვინვარებაში არ გადაიზრდება.
ჰარი უილბურნი, ფრენსის რიტენმეიერი, შარლოტი და პატიმარი.
ეს იმ პერსონაჟთა ჩამონათვალია, რომელნიც წიგნის დახურვას შემდეგ სრულიად გაკარგავინებენ მოსვენებას.
ჩვეულებრივი ყოფითი პრობლემები, ოღონდ ფრიად უჩვეულო სტილით
გადმოცემული.
რომ შევაჯამოთ, პერსონაჟების ასეთ კომბინაციას ვიღებთ:
ორი ცხოვრებისგან დაღდასმული პატიმარი,
ავანტიურისტი შარლოტი და
დამყოლი რიტენმეიერი...
მოგონებენი კი ერთიანად წამყვან როლს თამაშობენ ორივე სიუჟეტურ მიმდინარეობაში.
შარლოტის პერსონაჟს ცალსახად ვერ შეაფასებ.
თითქოს შეუძლია სიყვარული, თითქოს მაინც ჩვეულებრივი მატერეალისტია.
ჰარი...
ჰარი გამოუცდელი ბავშვივითაა, შეცდომის დაშვებისას ხელები რომ უკანკალებს.
დედას უფრო რომ ეძებს, ვიდრე ცხოვრებისეულ პარტნიორს.
პატიმარი ცხოვრებას შეგუებული კაცის ხატებაა/უიღბლო კაცის ხატება.
ერთი სიტყვით, ამ წიგნის გამორჩეულეობას ვერ გადმოსცემ ასე, ლიტონი სიტყვების ბრახუნით.
თავადვე უნდა შეიგრძნოთ !
პ.ს.
ავტორის სიდიადეზე აღარაფერს ვიტყვი, ვფიქრობ, ყველასთვის ცხადია ყველაფერი.
პ.პ.ს. მორჩა, მეტჯერ აღარ გავაკეთებ რედაქტირებას. 💁🏻♂️
მოკლედ, ახლა მოვკეტავ!
იმხელა ცნობიერების ნაკადი დამიგროვდა ტვინში... შევიკავებ, ვეცდები მაინც.
August 28, 2016
Grandioso.
La singolarità della struttura, unita al virtuosismo dello stile, rischia di mettere a dura prova il lettore meno paziente.
Tuttavia se si entra nel meccanismo e ci si lascia prendere dal ritmo solenne e dal realismo visionario di queste storie, ci si rende conto di trovarsi di fronte a un’opera insolita e di grande valore.
I due romanzi che la compongono, narrati a capitoli alterni, si snodano parallelamente percorrendo luoghi e tempi diversi.
All’apparenza non hanno nulla in comune, tuttavia a una indagine più approfondita rivelano alcune analogie di fondo e una certa simmetria, ad esempio nei temi speculari della donna e dell’amore, o della maternità e dell’aborto.
(Lo stesso Faulkner del resto ha affermato di aver scritto la seconda storia, “Il vecchio”, come “contrappunto” della prima, “Le palme selvagge”).
Anche i protagonisti hanno caratteristiche simili: sono individui tormentati, in perenne viaggio, maldestri eroi perseguitati dalla sventura, vinti. Tanto dai passi introspettivi, quanto dai momenti di azione frenetica si giunge alla conclusione che è insito nella natura dell’uomo il desiderio di conoscenza e di sperimentazione, come pure l’impulso alla distruzione, alla rinuncia del bene e della salvezza.
Due romanzi epici, dunque, che raccontano di grandi passioni vissute da eroi tragici, nello scenario inquietante di paesaggi selvaggi sconvolti dalla furia degli elementi; e ciò che li lega indissolubilmente è la scelta eroica, consapevole e disperata del dolore come antidoto al nulla.
La singolarità della struttura, unita al virtuosismo dello stile, rischia di mettere a dura prova il lettore meno paziente.
Tuttavia se si entra nel meccanismo e ci si lascia prendere dal ritmo solenne e dal realismo visionario di queste storie, ci si rende conto di trovarsi di fronte a un’opera insolita e di grande valore.
I due romanzi che la compongono, narrati a capitoli alterni, si snodano parallelamente percorrendo luoghi e tempi diversi.
All’apparenza non hanno nulla in comune, tuttavia a una indagine più approfondita rivelano alcune analogie di fondo e una certa simmetria, ad esempio nei temi speculari della donna e dell’amore, o della maternità e dell’aborto.
(Lo stesso Faulkner del resto ha affermato di aver scritto la seconda storia, “Il vecchio”, come “contrappunto” della prima, “Le palme selvagge”).
Anche i protagonisti hanno caratteristiche simili: sono individui tormentati, in perenne viaggio, maldestri eroi perseguitati dalla sventura, vinti. Tanto dai passi introspettivi, quanto dai momenti di azione frenetica si giunge alla conclusione che è insito nella natura dell’uomo il desiderio di conoscenza e di sperimentazione, come pure l’impulso alla distruzione, alla rinuncia del bene e della salvezza.
Due romanzi epici, dunque, che raccontano di grandi passioni vissute da eroi tragici, nello scenario inquietante di paesaggi selvaggi sconvolti dalla furia degli elementi; e ciò che li lega indissolubilmente è la scelta eroica, consapevole e disperata del dolore come antidoto al nulla.
July 4, 2019
This is a respectful but exhausted 3,5. To me, this book is a meditation on responsibility - two major characters are thrown in situations where they feel compelled to care for something or someone outside themselves -a pregnant woman about to deliver in one case, love in another. This is highlighted by two minor characters in the Wild Palms section of a novel, a Conradian (to a degree) engineer in an ore mine and a husband of the protagonist's lover, who attempts to give the latter a way out of the predicament he found himself in, out of what I see as loyalty to his wife.
The female protagonist of The Wild Palms section is not a very fortunate creation. She is supposed to be a force of nature, like the flood in the Old Man section, but we end up with a character I would happily see poisoned.
The two sections are narrated in two very different ways, one - The Wild Palms - using 'regular' narrative time, another - Old Man - using very slow narrative time, which is not fun to read.
The female protagonist of The Wild Palms section is not a very fortunate creation. She is supposed to be a force of nature, like the flood in the Old Man section, but we end up with a character I would happily see poisoned.
The two sections are narrated in two very different ways, one - The Wild Palms - using 'regular' narrative time, another - Old Man - using very slow narrative time, which is not fun to read.
January 4, 2018
Một dịch giả từng nói: W.Faulkner vẫn là một thứ quá khó ở Việt Nam, cho tới tận giờ. Điều này có lẽ đúng. Đọc Faulkner không dễ, để hiểu và thẩm thấu chắc còn khó hơn nhiều. Nhưng khi bắt được mạch chuyện, ta gần như bị ám, bị cuốn vào một giai đoạn, một thế giới tưởng như rất xa mà lại gần quá đỗi.
Cọ Hoang đưa ta trở về nước Mỹ (vẫn luôn là nước Mỹ) của một thời loạn lạc. Câu chuyện, có thể coi là, viết về tình yêu, một thứ tình, nếu có thực, chỉ xuất hiện ở xứ sở tự do ấy. Nhưng ta vẫn bắt gặp ở đó bóng dáng những mảnh đời xung quanh ta, hoặc giả hình ảnh của chính ta. Nó khiến ta phải nhìn lại những thứ ta vẫn hàng ngày đối diện, những vụn vỡ luôn có thể nuốt chửng ta, những khoảng trống sau lưng, quãng đời ta bỏ lại quá khứ, gánh nặng của mỗi cuộc đời, hay cách mỗi người bước qua khó khăn.
Cách dẫn chuyện, cấu tứ mang nhiều màu sắc điện ảnh (như chích dịch giả thừa nhận). Nó khiến người đọc trượt đi. Từng trang văn, dài ngắn, như những cảnh quay với nhiều góc máy, nhiều trường đoạn. Người đọc mải mê chạy theo những buồn vui, những hoàn cảnh trái ngang của nhân vật, của những con người, phải chăng, chỉ có trên film? Và rồi, khi ta gấp cuốn sách lại, ta lại ước giá như chưa đọc nó, vì ta vừa đánh rơi một thứ gì rất lâu mới có thể tìm được...
Càng đọc Faulkner càng hiểu Sao người ta lại nói Ông là một trong số ít nhà văn đoạt Nobel có được thứ văn chương thực thụ, và tại sao nhiều nhà văn bị ảnh hưởng của ông đến vậy.
Cọ Hoang đưa ta trở về nước Mỹ (vẫn luôn là nước Mỹ) của một thời loạn lạc. Câu chuyện, có thể coi là, viết về tình yêu, một thứ tình, nếu có thực, chỉ xuất hiện ở xứ sở tự do ấy. Nhưng ta vẫn bắt gặp ở đó bóng dáng những mảnh đời xung quanh ta, hoặc giả hình ảnh của chính ta. Nó khiến ta phải nhìn lại những thứ ta vẫn hàng ngày đối diện, những vụn vỡ luôn có thể nuốt chửng ta, những khoảng trống sau lưng, quãng đời ta bỏ lại quá khứ, gánh nặng của mỗi cuộc đời, hay cách mỗi người bước qua khó khăn.
Cách dẫn chuyện, cấu tứ mang nhiều màu sắc điện ảnh (như chích dịch giả thừa nhận). Nó khiến người đọc trượt đi. Từng trang văn, dài ngắn, như những cảnh quay với nhiều góc máy, nhiều trường đoạn. Người đọc mải mê chạy theo những buồn vui, những hoàn cảnh trái ngang của nhân vật, của những con người, phải chăng, chỉ có trên film? Và rồi, khi ta gấp cuốn sách lại, ta lại ước giá như chưa đọc nó, vì ta vừa đánh rơi một thứ gì rất lâu mới có thể tìm được...
Càng đọc Faulkner càng hiểu Sao người ta lại nói Ông là một trong số ít nhà văn đoạt Nobel có được thứ văn chương thực thụ, và tại sao nhiều nhà văn bị ảnh hưởng của ông đến vậy.
November 26, 2024
When this was published in 1939, Faulkner already had written his most famous Yoknapatawpha novels, including The Sound and the Fury, As I Lay Dying, Sanctuary, Light in August, Absalom, Absalom!, and The Unvanquished. Although this doesn't share the fictional Yoknapatawpha County, Mississppi setting, it continues his exploration of form, alternating chapters of two different narratives connected only by theme, and, occasionally, of stream of consciousness style, but it's very accessible and worth reading.
Because if memory exists outside of the flesh it wont be memory because it wont know what it remembers so when she became not then half of memory became not and if I became not then all of remembering will cease to be.--Yes he thought Between grief and nothing I will take grief.
Because if memory exists outside of the flesh it wont be memory because it wont know what it remembers so when she became not then half of memory became not and if I became not then all of remembering will cease to be.--Yes he thought Between grief and nothing I will take grief.
September 18, 2022
The Wild Palms [If I Forget Thee, Jerusalem] is a book that I grew to appreciate the more that I thought about it. It doesn't match the brilliance of Faulkner's greatest work, but it is just as piercing a gaze into the human condition. Always experimenting with structure, Faulkner develops two novella-size stories adjacently to counterpoint each other. The juxtaposition works pretty well, though it does also highlight the fact that one of the stories is much more engaging than the other. As usual, the prose is profound and challenging and the subject matter pushes the envelope for what is acceptable storytelling in its era. Thematically, there is so much going on regarding ethics, quest for meaning, freedom, pregnancy (and abortion), love. It is a book that will not go down as one of my favorites but is undeniably well-executed and relevant.
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