Imagem de Carl Van Vechten, by way of Wikimedia Commons
“Como Faulkner conseguiu?” É uma pergunta que muitos escritores incipientes se perguntaram enquanto lutavam por um período de aprendizado como o romancista John Barth descreve em sua palestra de 1999 “My Faulkner”. Barth “reorchestrado“Seus heróis literários, ele diz,” em busca do meu eu escritor … baixando meus inúmeros predecessores como apenas um aprendiz verde insaciável pode “. Certamente, muitos escritores podem se relacionar quando Barth diz: “Foi Faulkner em seu mais involuído e encantador que mais me encantou”. Para muitos escritores, a frase faulkneriana é um labirinto irresistível. Sua sintaxe tem uma maneira de se entregar ao inconsciente, emergente como uma imitação justa para mediar.
Enquanto estudava em Universidade Johns Hopkins, Barth se viu escrevendo sobre sua costa nativa de Japanese de Maryland, em um estilo pastiche de “Center Faulkner e Late Joyce”. Ele pode ter ganhado alguns elogios de um jovem visitante William Styron, “mas a Opus acabada não voou – por uma coisa, porque Faulkner intimamente sabia Seus Snops, Compsons e Sartorises, pois eu não conhecia meus habitantes inventados do Maryland Marsh. ” O conselho de escrever apenas o que você sabe pode não valer muito como um mandamento common. Mas estudar a maneira como Faulkner escreveu quando se voltou para os assuntos que ele conhecia melhor fornece uma lição de objetos sobre a poderosa intimidade de um recurso literário.
Não apenas a profunda afiliação de Faulkner com a vida inside de seus personagens eleva seus retratos muito acima do nível de cor native ou curiosidade regionalista, mas isso anima suas frases, faz com que eles se movam constantemente e respirem. Não importa quanto tempo e torcidos eles tenham, eles não obtêm, murcham ou arrastam; Eles correm como um rio, virando-se no lado, ultrapassando a si mesmos e dobrando e triplicando de volta. A intimidade de Faulkner não é seriedade, é a sensação estranha de um encontro cru com um centro nervoso iluminar com informações, tudo aparentemente criticamente importante.
É a extraordinária qualidade sensorial de sua prosa que permitiu que Faulkner se saísse de escrever a frase mais longa na literatura, pelo menos de acordo com o 1983 Guinness Guide of World Informationuma passagem de Absalão, Absalão! cOnisting de 1.288 palavras e quem sabe quantos tipos diferentes de cláusulas. Agora existem frases mais longas na redação inglesa. Jonathan Coe’s O clube de Rotter Termina com um Whopper de 33 páginas com 13.955 palavras. Romances inteiros centenas de páginas foram escritos em uma frase em outros idiomas. Todos os contemporâneos modernistas de Faulkner, incluindo, é claro, Joyce, Woolf e Beckett, Dornizou o uso de Run-onspara efeitos diferentes.
Mas, por um tempo, Faulkner levou a corrida o mais longe possível. Ele pode não ter intenção de inspirar a ficção pós-moderna, mas um de seus romancistas mais conhecidos, Barth, só encontrou sua voz ao escrever um “pântano fortemente faulkneriano”. Muitas centenas de escritores experimentais tiveram experiências quase idênticas tentando exorcizar o Oxford, a voz do Mississippi Modernist de sua prosa. Leia essa frase mais longa na literatura, todas as 1.288 palavras, abaixo.
Simply precisely like Father if Father had often called a lot about it the night time earlier than I went on the market as he did the day after I got here again pondering Mad impotent previous man who realized finally that there have to be some restrict even to the capabilities of a demon for doing hurt, who should have seen his state of affairs as that of the present lady, the horse, who realizes that the principal tune she prances to comes not from horn and fiddle and drum however from a clock and calendar, should have seen himself because the previous wornout cannon which realizes that it might probably ship only one extra fierce shot and crumble to mud in its personal livid blast and recoil, who appeared about upon the scene which was nonetheless inside his scope and compass and noticed son gone, vanished, extra insuperable to him now than if the son have been lifeless since now (if the son nonetheless lived) his title can be totally different and people to name him by it strangers and no matter dragon’s outcropping of Sutpen blood the son may sow No corpo de qualquer mulher estranha, portanto, continuaria a tradição, realizaria o mal hereditário e danos sob outro nome e sobre e entre as pessoas que nunca terão ouvido o certo; daughter doomed to spinsterhood who had chosen spinsterhood already earlier than there was anybody named Charles Bon for the reason that aunt who got here to succor her in bereavement and sorrow discovered neither however as a substitute that calm completely impenetrable face between a homespun costume and sunbonnet seen earlier than a closed door and once more in a cloudy swirl of chickens whereas Jones was constructing the coffin and which she wore through the subsequent 12 months whereas the aunt lived there and the three girls wove their very own clothes and raised their very own meals and minimize the wooden they cooked it with (excusing what assist that they had from Jones who lived together with his granddaughter within the deserted fishing camp with its collapsing roof and rotting porch in opposition to which the rusty scythe which Sutpen was to lend him, make him borrow to chop away the weeds from the door-and finally pressured him to make use of although to not minimize weeds, at the least not vegetable weeds ‑would lean for 2 years) and wore nonetheless after the aunt’s indignation had swept her again to city to reside on stolen backyard truck and out of nameless baskets left on her entrance steps at night time, the three of them, the 2 daughters negro and white and the aunt twelve miles away watching from her distance as the 2 daughters watched from theirs the previous demon, the traditional varicose and despairing Faustus fling his closing important now with the Creditor’s hand already on his shoulder, working his little nation retailer now for his bread and meat, haggling tediously over nickels and dimes with rapacious and poverty-stricken whites and negroes, who at one time might have galloped for ten miles in any course with out crossing his personal boundary, utilizing out of his meagre inventory a budget ribbons and beads and the stale violently-colored sweet with which even an previous man can seduce a fifteen-year-old nation lady, to destroy the granddaughter of his companion, this Jones-this gangling malaria-ridden white man whom he had given permission fourteen years in the past to squat within the deserted fishing camp with the year-old grandchild-Jones, companion porter and clerk who on the demon’s command eliminated together with his personal hand (and perhaps delivered too) from the showcase the sweet beads and ribbons, measured the very material from which Judith (who had not been bereaved and didn’t mourn) helped the granddaughter to vogue a costume to stroll previous the lounging males in, the side-looking and the tongues, till her rising stomach taught her embarrassment-or maybe concern;-Jones who earlier than ’61 had not even been allowed to strategy the entrance of the home and who through the subsequent 4 years bought no nearer than the kitchen door and that solely when he introduced the sport and fish and greens on which the seducer-to-be’s spouse and daughter (and Clytie too, the one remaining servant, negro, the one who would forbid him to move the kitchen door with what he introduced) relied on to maintain life in them, however who now entered the home itself on the (fairly frequent now) afternoons when the demon would all of a sudden curse the shop empty of consumers and lock the door and restore to the rear and in the identical tone through which he used to deal with his orderly and even his home servants when he had them (and through which he probably ordered Jones to fetch from the showcase the ribbons and beads and sweet) direct Jones to fetch the jug, the 2 of them (and Jones even sitting now who within the previous days, the previous lifeless Sunday afternoons of monotonous peace which they spent beneath the scuppernong arbor within the again yard, the demon mendacity within the hammock whereas Jones squatted in opposition to a publish, rising infrequently to pour for the demon from the demijohn and the bucket of spring water which he had fetched from the spring greater than a mile away then squatting once more, chortling and chuckling and saying ‘Sho, Mister Tawm’ every time the demon paused)-the two of them ingesting flip and switch about from the jug and the demon not mendacity down now nor even sitting however reaching after the third or second drink that previous man’s state of impotent and livid undefeat through which he would rise, swaying and plunging and shouting for his horse and Pistolas para andar sozinho em Washington e atirar em Lincoln (um ano ou mais tarde demais aqui) e Sherman, gritando: ‘Mate-os! Atire neles como os cães que são! e Jones: ‘sho, kernel; sho now’ and catching him as he fell and commandeering the primary passing wagon to take him to the home and carry him up the entrance steps and thru the paintless formal door beneath its fanlight imported pane by pane from Europe which Judith held open for him to enter with no change, no alteration in that calm frozen face which she had worn for 4 years now, and on up the steps and into the bed room and put him to mattress like a child after which lie down himself on the ground beside the Cama, embora não dormir desde antes do amanhecer, o homem na cama se mexia e geme e Jones dizia: ‘Flyer eu sou, kernel. Hit está tudo bem. Eles não estão nos que nos fizeram, o ar eles? this Jones who after the demon rode away with the regiment when the granddaughter was solely eight years previous would inform folks that he ‘was lookin after Main’s place and niggers’ even earlier than that they had time to ask him why he was not with the troops and maybe in time got here to imagine the lie himself, who was among the many first to greet the demon when he returned, to fulfill him on the gate and say, ‘Effectively, Kernel, they kilt us however they aint whupped us você, ar eles? ‘ who even labored, labored, sweat on the demon’s behest throughout that first livid interval whereas the demon believed he might restore by sheer indomitable prepared the Sutpen’s Hundred which he remembered and had misplaced, labored with no hope of pay or reward who should have seen lengthy earlier than the demon did (or would admit it) that the duty was hopeless-blind Jones who apparently noticed nonetheless in that livid lecherous wreck the previous fantastic determine of the person who as soon as galloped on the black puro -sangue sobre o domínio dois limites dos quais o olho não podia ver de nenhum ponto.
Nota: Uma versão anterior deste publish apareceu em nosso website em 2019.
Conteúdo relacionado:
‘Nunca tenha medo’: o discurso de William Faulkner para a aula de graduação de sua filha em 1951
Sete dicas de William Faulkner sobre como escrever ficção
Filme raro de 1952: William Faulkner em seu solo nativo em Oxford, Mississippi
Josh Jones é um escritor e músico com sede em Durham, NC. Siga -o em @jdmagness
_(photo_by_Carl_van_Vechten).jpg){kind=link}