Written by | Beijing News reporter Zhang Jin
It was in December 1950, in Stockholm, where Faulkner received the 1949 Nobel Prize accompanied by his daughter Jill. His performance during this period was not bad, but it was really not good, although he did not use whiskey to make himself unconscious, he also reached the point of mental exhaustion. He could not control not drinking, and even on such occasions, even if he had reached a non-drinking agreement with his wife before leaving, and alcoholism became an important reason for Faulkner's deteriorating health and eventual death.
William faulkner
(willian faulkner l897~1962)
American novelist. After 1925, he specialized in creation and was regarded by the Western literary circles as a "modern classic writer". Written in total, he has written 19 novels and more than 70 short stories, the vast majority of which take place in the fictional county of York Napatafa and are known as the "York Napatafa Lineage". He was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1949. Pictured is Faulkner with his horse.
Exhausted by writing
The Swedish Academy awarded Faulkner this award at an opportune time. It is not that Faulkner needed any awards, which he has always been indifferent to, as can be seen in his later attitude towards the Pulitzer Prize and the National Book Award, but because at that time Faulkner had indeed written his most important things, and this also implied the fact that his talent—if not all, but most of it—had been exhausted. For any writer, this bitter situation that is bound to come is undoubtedly depressing. During his thirties and forties, Faulkner's talent was like a large bonfire burning vigorously, in fact, many of his stories were heard from others around the campfire while hunting, but now the fire of this bonfire is inevitably shrinking and will soon be extinguished. Anxiety about future creations exacerbated his poor physical condition caused by drunkenness and a cold.
By this time, he no longer had to worry about family debt; the ancient honor of the Faulkner family, which he had been trying to revive, was also fulfilled in the international event of winning the Nobel Prize. The only thing he wanted to do now was perhaps to prove that he could still write, as he had done for many years, to sit in his home in Oaksford's name "Oak Tree," to press himself to his desk with an iron will, seven or eight hours a day, to tell a story, a legend, or a fable in his characteristic charming tone, as you can define. Once upon a time, it was his greatest wish after that bohemian life of debauchery, the best way to avoid quarrels with his equally alcoholic wife, Estelle, and, of course, his only means of earning money other than to occasionally go to Hollywood to write a screenplay.
After returning home from Stockholm, Faulkner began writing the dramatic Requiem for the Nuns. From New Year's Day to June 1951, he was exhausted by pain and sweat, but he survived. As for the evaluation of the book, euphemistically, it is tepid. By early 1952, he had to start writing Fables, an ambitious reflection on World War I. It wasn't until November 1953 that the book was finally finalized with the help of his lover, Joan Williams. The process of writing is extremely difficult, and compared to the previous experience of writing, it is simply a sin. Joan recalled the scene and said Faulkner "looked a little helpless." For a man who wrote "Noise and Commotion," "My Dying Hour," "The Light of August," and "Absalom, Absalom," this helplessness would in any case have a tinge of pity, but I think that if anyone really expressed this sentiment to Faulkner, he would have turned away dismissively. This hardship, and the tenacity and courage, even stubbornness, of absolute persistence in the face of this hardship, is a special right to be an artist (a term commonly used by Faulkner). Yes, he suffered because of it, but he also became the person he wished he was.
Fables, by William Faulkner, translator: Lin Bin, edition: Beijing Yanshan Publishing House, November 2017
It's hard to say that Fable was a success, especially for Faulkner. Perhaps the success of the work is not so important to him, at least he is still writing, and what is important is that his health has been seriously damaged by multiple alcoholism and horse crashes, but from his own response, this is really not very important. One day in March or April 1952, he was severely injured in the back by a horse; soon after, during the "Cultural Freedom" Congress in Paris, he fell off his horse again; from 1958 to 1959, Faulkner fell off his horse several times and was sent to a sanatorium. The doctor's advice was always two o'clock, not to drink alcohol, not to ride a horse. With almost a slight improvement in his condition, Faulkner drank whiskey cup after cup again, once again pulling out his beloved horse.
Accept the role of "cultural celebrity"
In 1954, the U.S. State Department invited Faulkner to Brazil for the World Writers' Convention, and to his surprise, Faulkner was thrilled. After two consecutive works of painstaking creation and negative evaluation, he may need exactly such an outlet. In this way, Faulkner began his journey to South America. He first went to Lima, Peru, for seminars and press conferences, and fatigue and nervousness made him drink too much brandy, so when he arrived in Brazil, he had to undergo closed treatment, but overall Faulkner behaved mildly, modestly, and gracefully, and The Peruvians and Brazilians were also very enthusiastic about Faulkner's arrival. Perhaps inspired by another way on this trip, rather than being distressed by what he was about to write, Faulkner wrote to the U.S. State Department "asking for more similar cultural missions in the future."
For years to come, Faulkner seemed to embrace and enjoy a new role as a "cultural celebrity." In addition, he became more and more concerned about political issues and began to accept invitations to speak at various universities. Until then, Faulkner had never shown even the slightest interest in the above behavior, or even embarrassed to speak publicly. For a long time he lived in a closed private world and an imagination of fiction, and at this stage of his life he seemed to see the outside world for the first time, and he was having some thoughts to preach.
When Faulkner arrived in Japan in August 1955, he was surrounded by a flood of journalists and flash lights, which were attended by more than fifty professors of Japanese literature. Faulkner's arrival became a cultural event in Japan. The unprecedented success of his trip to Japan allowed Faulkner to gain experience in dealing with the outside world, to acquire patterns and techniques for answering questions, and by the time he subsequently traveled to Manila, Rome, Naples, Milan, London, and Reykjavik, he had become comfortable with such occasions: elegant manners and proper answers.
Refusal to give up riding
Luckily or unfortunately, this quickly got Faulkner tired of it. He never considered himself an intellectual, unfit to answer questions from all over the world. At a cocktail party in 1957, he answered questions from reporters by calling himself "just a countryman from Mississippi," in a sense that was not just modesty. This "countryman" is extremely good at observing and imagining the world, and he is obviously not the best person to answer the confusion of so many people. Even so, in the imagination of ordinary people, there should be a lot that the accomplished Faulkner can do, and if he can put aside his pen, it is not a bad thing, as he said to Anderson, who is nearly fifty years old, in "Remembering Sherwood Anderson", "He has reached the stage where he should put pen to rest." Moreover, for a man who has become a literary icon in the United States, France, Italy, and Latin America, you really can't ask for more from him than himself.
By this time, he should have felt that there was only a little flame left in the campfire he had created, but he didn't want to end it, even if all he could do was talk a little more about it. He began writing the second part of the "Snopps Trilogy," "The Town," and the first, The Village, was written nearly 20 years ago. Once again, he sat at his desk in the "Catalpa Oak Tree." As a result, like Fables, "Small Town" received little praise. But a trilogy is a trilogy, and he has to write another one. If he had set a goal of ten parts, I think he would have tried to complete it at all costs. By November 1957, Faulkner was writing The Mansion.
Between the two books, Faulkner accepted an invitation from the University of Virginia to become a "writer-in-residence." In his free time, he went out on horseback hunting with his new friends, something he had always really enjoyed, and a tradition of the old South that he kept writing about; spiritually Faulkner had maintained a close connection with the land, the starting point for his life and writing, and the refuge from which he wrote. Faulkner took hunting so seriously that it felt a bit excessive. Every time he hunted, he appeared in full costume, "and on weekdays he carefully maintained his knightly clothes, hunting coats and equipment." The hilt of the gun he used had his initials engraved on it. But Faulkner suffered from injuries caused by multiple horse crashes, and he took various antibiotics along with whiskey until he was admitted to a nursing home again in early 1960.
The Predator, by William Faulkner, translated by Yang Ying and Wang Jing, edition: Shanghai Translation Publishing House, June 2010
On July 2, 1961, Faulkner learned of Hemingway's death, and his first reaction was that Hemingway must have committed suicide. There was some discord between the two, and they had never met, but Faulkner understood Hemingway too well, the kind of sympathy that shared the sympathy of a great writer who, like himself, endured the torments of alcohol, back injuries, and the deterioration of his writing ability. It is difficult to say which of the two people is wiser in their choices when faced with similar life situations.
Hemingway chose death, and Faulkner devoted his last passion, perhaps through the little sparks that flew out when the campfire was extinguished, into writing his last work, The Predator. The book was published in June 1962, a month before Faulkner's death. During this time, Faulkner, in his sixties, fell off his horse several more times, one more severely, which left him scaly and even briefly amnesiac, but just as he never gave up writing, he refused to give up riding. When we look at it from the eyes of those who came after us, "getting on the horse-falling off the horse" is enough for Faulkner's later life to become a clear symbol: failure after failure, and then fearless attempt again. He seems to be practicing with his own actions the "bravery" of the noble qualities of human beings that he mentioned in his Nobel Prize speech, even at great cost, including his life. （
Note: The bibliography of this article is Jay Parrini's Faulkner Biography.
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Author: Zhang Jin
Editor: Yu Yaqin
Proofreader: Lin Zhao