THIS WEEK’S WINNER
MANILA, Philippines - Jillian Joyce Ong Tan, 19, of Sta. Cruz, Metro Manila, is a sophomore at Ateneo de Manila University studying management and English literature. She loves reading and watching movies, especially those directed by Elia Kazan, Stanley Kubrick and Martin Scorsese.
Where is Ma, Darl? You never got her. You knew she is a fish, but you let her get away. You never got her. Darl. Darl. Darl. — Vardaman in William Faulkner’s As I Lay Dying
On her deathbed, Addie Bundren made her husband promise to bury her in her hometown 40 miles away. A simple enough request, and one a husband would never think of denying his dying wife. However, an outrageous stream of bad luck coupled with various miscues by the Bundren family members makes the seemingly uncomplicated task a very difficult one. William Faulkner’s As I Lay Dying highlights the odyssey of the Bundrens as they transport the coffin to Jefferson. Sometimes comedic, more often than not tragic, the 1930 novel unmistakably reveals Faulkner’s brilliance and mastery of various modern literary techniques. Stream of consciousness, internal monologues, and the rarely seen swift shifts in point of view all contribute to making this novel one of the finest of the 20th century.
I will not pretend I found the novel an easy read. On the contrary, it was particularly challenging and traumatizing. In the novel’s 248 pages, the point of view changes 59 times, with 15 different people narrating. Imagine the confusion and contradictions this creates. Aside from the fact that the book mainly delves into the subject of death (and spares no details about rotting bodies and their stench), it also explores the many dysfunctional relationships within the family as a social institution. I would go so far as to say that the Bundrens are a prototype for all the dysfunctional families we see on American television right now — the good-for-nothing dad who’s an accident waiting to happen, the immoral daughter who gets herself pregnant, the insane son who burns down an entire barn — the whole shebang. It makes you wonder why you would bother to read about a doomed family who is generations behind you and millions of miles away from your reality.
So why does this book — despite its setting in the American south with its state of utter privation — compel you to read it from start to finish? It is because Faulkner’s brilliance lies in his understanding that everyone belongs to a family that suffers from some form of dysfunction — whether or not they are willing to admit it. With audacity and honesty, Faulkner portrays not only what is good or heroic about a family, but also all the things that threaten the very foundations of one.
What I found very comedic in the story is that all the characters think of themselves as heroic, or at least want to be heroes. The ironic thing about this is, for the most part, their ideas are out of touch with reality. Though meaning well, the Bundrens fail to realize they are actually doing more harm than good. I guess we all want to be heroes for the people we love, which is a good thing, but sometimes we set too high of a standard. Maybe if we stopped idealizing and just did our best, things would be less complicated.
What makes this book so special and unique to me is its salient portrayal of the weaknesses in humanity — how we can let ourselves succumb to the whims of society or the people surrounding us. One of my favorite lines in the story is during one of Cash’s internal monologues: “Sometimes I ain’t so sho who’s got ere a right to say when a man is crazy and when he ain’t… It’s like it ain’t so much what a fellow does, but it’s the way the majority of the folks is looking at him when he does it.” It is human nature to constantly worry about social norms and conventions and this can very well lead to self-destruction. I realized, in reading the book, that our self-knowledge is always clouded by how others view us. I suppose I am still at the stage in my life where I crave people’s approval and confirmation. But if I continue to let other people dictate who I am and mold my identity, I may no longer know myself.
The plot of As I Lay Dying is carefully related through the monologues of the various characters. What I find most striking is the depiction of the father, Anse Bundren. Everything starts rolling with the introductory description (“I have never seen a sweat stain on his shirt. He was sick once from working in the sun when he was twenty-two years old, and he tells people that if he ever sweats, he will die. I suppose he believes it”) through the testimonies of other characters about his extreme reliance on neighbor’s charity and his predilection for a quick buck, all perfectly leading to the finale.
Anse is the exact opposite of my own father, and I suppose this heightened my feelings of anxiety, reading about him. My father is a first-generation Chinese immigrant who built himself up from nothing. I cannot remember a single instance where my father said no to anything that my family or I wanted. When I got to the part in the novel where Anse forcibly takes Dewey Dell’s money, I just felt so grateful that I had a different type of dad. It would have been excusable if the money was used for the burial of Addie or for some higher cause; but no, he used it to buy dentures. How can you not despise a man who says of himself: “I have done things but neither better nor worse than them that pretend otherlike, and I know that Old Marster will care for me as ere a sparrow that falls?”
In the end, you do not choose a favorite book because it is easy, or because it happens to be on everyone’s favorite list. I believe our favorites are intimately personal choices that reflect who we are as human beings. In my case, I chose this novel because it challenges me and whenever I read it, I discover something new. It possesses the rare capability of crossing all kinds of boundaries — age, language and geography.