Quentin’s chapter, “June Second, 1910,” although narrated by an ostensibly disturbed voice that alternates between distant memory and present observation, begins with consistent and coherent language. Quentin’s grammar appears in tact and his syntax maintains its sense throughout the difficult subject matter. Toward the end of the chapter, however, the narrator’s language begins to fall apart, reflecting the state of his dying mind, his dissolving sanity. The overt clock imagery which permeates this chapter assists in this reflection, as it draws the reader’s attention to the passing of time while observing the actions and thoughts of the suicidal narrator nearing his death. The reader continuously hears time passing within the chapter through the sound symbolism of ticking watches, ringing bells, chiming hours, striking clocks, and many other similar instances leading up to the last paragraphs of Quentin’s thoughts and life, which are completely contained within the strikes of the 3/4 hour sound.
“The three quarters began. The first note sounded, measured and tranquil, serenely peremptory, emptying the unhurried silence for the next one and that’s it if people could only change one another forever that way merge like a flame swirling up for an instant then blown cleanly out along the cool eternal dark instead of Iying there trying not to think of the swing until all cedars came to have that vivid dead smell of perfume that Benjy hated so. Just by imagining the clump it seemed to me that I could hear whispers secret surges smell the beating of hot blood under wild unsecret flesh watching against red eyelids the swine untethered in pairs rushing coupled into the sea and he we must just stay awake and see evil done for a little while its not always and i it doesnt have to be even that long for a man of courage and he do you consider that courage and i yes sir dont you and he every man is the arbiter of his own virtues […] and he i think you are too serious to give me any cause for alarm you wouldnt have felt driven to the expedient of telling me you had committed incest […]”
Faulkner 111-112
When the clock initially strikes, there is a moment of tranquility in Quentin’s mind, however, it is that moment that leads to the intense chaos of his subsequent jumbled thoughts, similar to the calm and warm weather that precedes destructive hurricanes. After the clock “empt[ies] the unhurried silence” Quentin’s innumerous and senseless thoughts begin, filling the page with nearly incomprehensible sounds, ultimately indicating to the readers that his mind is no longer ‘sound’ itself, and that it is ushering him to the threshold of suicide.
The waning punctuation of the paragraph is the first indication of his dissolving language and mental state. His thoughts initially turn again toward his family and the tainted outdoor haven of his childhood. A very significant turning point then ensues: Quentin capitalizes ‘I’ for the last time in the statement, “it seemed to me that I could hear whispers,” before his language manifests instability through the overt grammatical error of de-captializing proper nouns. He also demonstrates for the last time an ability to perceive, discern and reason by the statement “it seemed to me.” Interestingly, both the overt capitalization of ‘I,’ along with all forms of correct punctuation, and his discerning ability dissolve after the reference to the biblical story of Jesus casting out the legion of demons from a man and sending them instead into a heard of pigs. This reference appears to indicate an evil presence within his own mind, from which he is undeliverable; he who will ultimately throw himself over a ledge into water, following the example of the demon-possessed pigs. The reference not only debases his mental state to one infiltrated with a legion of chaotic whispers and noise, but also to one of an animal. It is only after this correlation that Quentin’s language completely disintegrates, linguistically portraying a mind of a disturbed, demon-possessed, and animal-like individual.
He moves directly into the memory of back-and-forth conversations he had with his father. His recollections make little sense to an outside observer, particularly as his sentences all run-on without punctuation, intertwined between several conversations and moments of time. He remembers determining in his own opinion that an untimely death by one’s own hand is an act of courage. His father doesn’t seem to rebuke his logic, but simply responds “every man is the arbiter of his own virtues.” This response, however, appears to be situated between two different conversations: one regarding the courage of suicide and another regarding an alleged act of incest. The confusing sentence structure and positioning indicate that this statement could apply to both equally horrifying situations, only confirming the presence of evil whispers in Quentin’s mind. The reader is left to ponder whether this conversation actually happened, or whether he is merely remembering a false interpretation of his father’s voice, which is a likely result of a deranged state of mind.
The chaos of this thought-filled moment ends with the final ring of the 3/4 hour mark: “The last note sounded. At last it stopped vibrating and the darkness was still again” (113). This indicates a repetitive hurricane-like pattern, marked, spaced, and terrifyingly inevitable through the structure of time. It also calls back the attention of a previous moment early in the chapter in which Quentin pays particular attention to the presence of a sparrow when he is alone in a Harvard quad and the clock is completing its hourly task; “The hour began to strike. The sparrow quit swapping eyes and watched me steadily with the same one until the chimes ceased, as if he were listening too” (50). This appears to be a hopeful insertion as it references Christ’s parable regarding the providence in even the smallest death; that when a sparrow’s hour has come and it falls, God is aware of such little things. This instant foreshadows Quentin’s final time-held experience, paralleling himself with the listening bird. The reader learns that after the ultimate moment of calm at the end of the chapter, the chaos of Quentin’s mind again culminates into the true act of suicide, the final break from all noise and time, and his fall into the hands of providence.
18 November 2019
Works Cited:
Faulkner, William. The Sound and the Fury. Norton Critical Ed., 2nd Ed. Edited by David Minter. W.W. Norton & Company, Inc., New York, 1994.