In 1929, William Faulkner published The Sound
and the Fury, his example par excellence of modernist American
fiction. Sixteen years later in 1945, he wrote what is known as his Compson
Appendix for inclusion in Malcolm Cowley's Portable Faulkner, which
Viking published in 1946. What had begun as a brief synopsis of the novel
soon turned into a superb extended genealogy that referred to much of Faulkner's
post-1929 work and reassured him that writing screenplays in Hollywood
had not destroyed his talent.1
At the author's insistence, this discursive history of the Compson family
also appeared at the front of Random House's 1946 Modern Library dual edition
of The Sound and the Fury and As I Lay Dying. Since that
time, the Appendix has appeared, sometimes with Faulkner's approval, at
the front or the back of various editions of the novel or been omitted
altogether. Understandably, Faulkner scholars have been divided over whether
the Appendix constitutes a part of the novel or a separate entity and over
where, if at all, it ought to appear in an edition of The Sound and
the Fury. That this debate has significant consequences is illustrated
by the effect that the Appendix with its substantial if often unremarked
differences from the 1929 text of the novel has had on criticism of The
Sound and the Fury.2
My interest here is less in championing one of the authorized existing
or possible texts of The Sound and the Fury than in discussing some
of the consequences that the work's textual instability has had both for
understanding it and for illustrating several theoretical concerns currently
bedeviling editorial theory. . . . Faulkner's inclusion of the Appendix
in the text of The Sound and the Fury re-contextualizes and so re-ontologizes,
however intentionally or unintentionally, the novel, thus creating a new
version or perhaps even a new and separate work. More simply put, the textual
instability of The Sound and the Fury illustrates how an author
can re-write a novel merely by framing an earlier version rather than re-writing
it. . . . . In the mid-1940s, The Sound and the Fury, which originally
had been met with good reviews but poor sales, was out of print like most
of Faulkner's other works. In thrall to Hollywood during much of the decade,
Faulkner quickly agreed to help Malcolm Cowley in 1944 when the latter
proposed writing an essay on the former's fiction. As this collaboration
led to their work on the Portable Faulkner, their correspondence
grew in warmth although it also reveals the strains produced by the different
conceptions and estimates the two men had of Faulkner's literary corpus.
Consequently, James Meriwether has cautioned us not to take all of Faulkner's
comments about the Appendix at face value ("Textual" 27).
Despite the occasional strained moment, Faulkner appeared genuinely pleased with the Portable when it appeared in April of 1946. He told his agent Harold Ober that "Malcolm Cowley has done a fine job in Spoonrivering my apocryphal county.... Be sure to see it" (SL 218), and in May he wrote Robert Haas, his publisher at Random House, that the volume pleased him very much (SL 234). True, Cowley and Faulkner were often at loggerheads as the novelist kept pressuring the editor to remove biographical information about Faulkner's military experience in World War I without telling him that it was inaccurate. Nor was Faulkner receptive to Cowley's notion that his work as a whole formed a symbolic parable about the rise and fall of the Old South's aristocratic planter class. Cowley's introduction describes Faulkner as an epic poet or bard in prose who invented "a Mississippi county that was like a mythical kingdom but was complete and living in all its details" and then made "his story of Yoknapatawpha County stand as a parable or legend of the Deep South" (2). "I'm inclined to think that my material, the South," he wrote Cowley in an oft-quoted letter, "is not very important to me. I just happen to know it, and dont [sic] have time in one life to learn another one and write it at the same time" (SL 185). Nonetheless, when Faulkner received an advance copy of the volume, he wrote Cowley jubilantly: "The job is splendid. Damn you to hell anyway" (SL 233).
Well before the Portable's appearance, Robert Linscott, Random House's new senior editor, requested an introduction from Faulkner for the forthcoming Modern Library dual edition of The Sound and the Fury and As I Lay Dying. Meriwether has suggested that Faulkner's subsequent desire to include the Appendix at the front of the dual edition may have been an attempt to get out of writing an introduction ("Textual" 29). For better or worse, however, it was Faulkner himself who insisted in a February 6th letter that Linscott include the Appendix not as an introduction but as a new first section of the novel:
Faulkner's insistence that the Appendix appear as the first section of The Sound and the Fury in the new edition probably resulted, as Noel Polk claims, from his seeing the Appendix as making the novel more comprehensible and so more accessible to the reader (17-18). Indeed, his correspondence with Linscott indicates that he felt the genealogy could help counter the old charge of obscurity which had originally been levelled against the 1929 Sound and the Fury in general and against Benjy's section in particular:
As a result of Faulkner's steadily increasing popularity, the 1946 Modern Library text of The Sound and the Fury with the Appendix at the front was reprinted and reissued frequently from 1954 to 1961 under the inexpensive paperback Modern Library and Vintage imprints (Meriwether, "Textual," 31).7 At the same time, we must remember, that copies of Cape & Smith's 1929 Sound and the Fury and two more small printings issued in the wake of Sanctuary's notoriety in 1931 had become exceedingly rare. During the 1960s, the Appendix appeared at the back of several reissues of the novel and some omitted it entirely.8 The wheel came full circle when Polk omitted the Appendix from both his Random House corrected text of The Sound and the Fury in 1984 and his Vintage paperback of the same text in 1987. When David Minter reprinted this text in his 1987 and 1994 Norton Critical Editions of The Sound and the Fury, however, he included the Appendix in the "Backgrounds and Contexts" sections. Finally, Polk omitted the Appendix once more from a facsimile reprint of the 1984 text in a different format in a 1990 Vintage International volume, but included it accompanied by a brief explanatory note at the rear of another facsimile reprint, the 1992 Modern Library volume.
If the presence and position the Appendix in texts of The Sound and the Fury have varied, its contents have remained relatively stable. The piece situates Faulkner's commentary on the immediate Compson family within the context of a lengthy genealogy of the generations that preceded them. Its broad scope extends backwards in time to the arrival of the first dispossessed Scottish Compson in America: one Quentin MacLachan Compson, who fled with his claymore and tartan from Culloden Moor and Bonnie Prince Charlie's unsuccessful attempt at the English throne in 1745. It also takes the family's history past the 1929 novel's conclusion on Easter Sunday, 1928, to Caddy's liaison with a German staff general in occupied France during World War II. Jason Compson IV, we learn, established his own business, committed Benjy to the state asylum in Jackson as soon as his mother died in 1933, fired the black servants, and ultimately partitioned the Compson house into apartments before selling it to a buyer who converted it into a boarding house. Unlike the psychological and emotional immediacy and intensity of the 1929 novel's stream-of-consciousness monologues, the genealogy showcases Faulkner's labyrinthine late expository prose style as it explains and assesses events and character motivation in the book. While it covers much of the same ground as the 1929 Sound and the Fury, the Appendix tells us less about what Faulkner once thought as he toiled at his fourth published novel in 1928 than about the man and author he had since become in 1945. His attempt to explain the book to his readers was done from the vantage point of over fifteen years of hindsight. Indeed, the Appendix, as Mary Jane Dickerson argues, is intimately connected to Faulkner's symbolic genealogical narrative techniques in Absalom, Absalom, (1936) and Go Down, Moses (1942) whose families "are twisted and sterile'' and "finally unable to transcend the old sins" (327).
As with Faulkner's other great families, both high and low, the Compson record is one of shifty dealings, first to acquire Compson's Mile, the future site of Jefferson, from the Indians and then to found a line. The land becomes the Compson Domain now "fit to breed princes, statesmen and generals and bishops" to avenge earlier dispossessions ''from Culloden and Carolina and Kentucky" (ML 333). Just as Thomas Sutpen and Flem Snopes contain traces of each other, so the Compsons of the Appendix suggest a composite of Sutpen and Snopes. Jason Lycurgus Compson, Quentin's great-great grandfather, is no aristocratic cavalier from the school of moonlight and magnolia but rather a gambler, a sharper, and an opportunist. He wins races and goods and land from the Indian chief Ikkemotubbe with "a small. . . mare which could do the first two furlongs in definitely under the halfminute and the next two in not appreciably more, though that was all" (ML 332). By limiting these races "to a quarter or at most three furlongs," Quentin's great-great-grandfather rose rapidly in Snopes-like fashion to become the half partner of the Chickasaw Agency's store (ML 332). From such humble origins, the family's fortunes grow to include a governor and a Civil War general, but their grand dreams of founding a dynasty all come to nought. Decline sets in and accelerates with the novel's Mr. Compson, a failed alcoholic lawyer, and his four children. It is Mr. Compson who sells ''the last of the property, except that fragment containing the house and the kitchen-garden and the collapsing stables and one servant's cabin" for Caddy's wedding and Quentin's lone year at Harvard (ML 334). The family line itself ends with Jason IV, a childless bachelor.
The rise and fall of the House of Compson described in the Appendix is reminiscent of similar parabolic trajectories traversed by the fictional Sutpen and McCaslin families. Understandably, some readers of texts of The Sound and the Fury that include the Appendix have taken the novel to be a mythologized representation of Southern deterioration: the Compsons yield to the Snopeses who take over Jefferson, leaving only Jason to hold his own with them. If the 1929 Sound and the Fury concentrates on a single Southern family in disarray, the Appendix clearly mythologizes through the declining Compson family fortunes Faulkner's historical sense of the white man's sojourn in the South and perhaps in America as well. The Appendix opens with the murderous Ikkemotubbe, who is dispossessed by Jason Lycurgus Compson, and ends with some of the black servants from the novel who "endured" (ML 348), suggesting by synecdoche the Scotch and English migration to America bracketed by the dispossession of the Indians and by the heritage of the curse of slavery.
Given the circumstances surrounding the genesis of the Compson Appendix, it should come as no surprise that it and the 1929 Sound and the Fury contradict each other in ways far more significant than the minor discrepancies readers have heretofore noticed. The motivations of the novel's primary characters in the genealogy clash repeatedly with their previous dramatization in the 1929 novel. Moreover, the characters in the Appendix suffer various psychological simplifications even as they gain from the historical and social contexts Faulkner provides. After reading the Appendix, for example, Cowley recalls telling Faulkner that Jason seemed "altogether repellent and hateful" in the novel, whereas the genealogy portrayed him "as having a certain redeeming doggedness and logic" (FCF 421). Indeed, Faulkner's entry for Jason ironically stresses his inhuman sanity several times, calling him "The first sane Compson since before Culloden.... Logical rational contained and even a philosopher in the old stoic tradition" (ML 342-43).9 While Jason competes successfully with the Snopeses in the Appendix (ML 343), the 1929 Sound and the Fury depicts him as primarily motivated less by the inhuman and inhumane economic and materialist rationality of the Appendix than by the same irrational obsessions he shares with his two brothers. Throughout the 1929 novel, Jason generally remains unaware of his starved need for love and approval, his insecurities, his anxieties, and his resentment of his parents. More importantly, the disastrous failure of both Mr. and Mrs. Compson as parents is movingly dramatized in the 1929 novel, generating some small measure of sympathy for the young Jason as victim even though he becomes a monstrous victimizer as an adult. It is precisely this childhood that the Appendix elides in order to focus on its broader historical perspective. Recalling his father's funeral, Jason thinks in the 1929 novel how he "began to feel sort of funny'' (232) and then remembers standing by the newly-filled grave with Caddy after everyone else has gone home,
The addition of Jason's post-1928 history to the Appendix is as troubling as what Faulkner omits from the genealogy. In the Appendix, curiously enough, Jason rises in the world. In Caddy s entry, we learn about "the farmers' supply store where Jason IV had started as a clerk and where he now owned his own business as a buyer of and dealer in cotton" (ML 338). More startling is the revelation that he
Although Faulkner believed that his attitude toward Benjy had not changed (SL 207), the Appendix's list of Benjy's three loves —"the pasture. . . his sister Candace, firelight'' (ML 345)—omits Caddy's worn slipper, a significant token that others use to soothe and comfort him in the 1929 novel. A fax more substantial discrepancy between Faulkner's two portraits of Benjy has gone unremarked: in describing Benjy's thwarted attack on the Burgess girl, the Appendix retreats from the 1929 Sound and the Fury's daring suggestions not only of rape but also of unrepressed incestuous desire for Caddy, the latter paralleling Quentin's more self-consciously conflicted feelings for his sister. Accustomed to sleeping with Caddy even after it became inappropriate and to regulating his sister's sexuality by bellowing whenever he detects the smell of perfume on her, Benjy's loss of Caddy opens up a profound absence that he is unable to articulate let alone accept. After her departure, he routinely follows returning schoolgirls along the Compson fence each day at twilight, thinking perhaps, as T. P. observed, "if he be down to the gate, Miss Caddy come back" (V 59). The climax of Benjy's assault in the 1929 novel is conveyed in language that is sexually suggestive albeit ambiguous:
Faulkner simplified and sanitized not only Benjy in the Appendix but also his complex and innovative presentation of Quentin's divided self in the 1929 novel. Perhaps the best example of this diminution is Faulkner's insistence in the Appendix that Quentin "loved not his sister's body but some concept of Compson honor" and "not the idea of the incest which he would not commit, but some presbyterian concept of its eternal punishment" (ML 335). Curiously, the Appendix remains silent on Benjy's and Quentin's parallel inner conflicts in the 1929 novel between conscious asexual and puritanical idealizations of Caddy as a substitute-mother on the one hand, and more or less repressed Oedipal desires for her as substitute-mother on the other. That Quentin's unconscious veneration of chaste womanhood masks an obsessive misogyny and a disgust with sexuality learned from Mr. Compson—Women "have an affinity for evil for supplying whatever the evil lacks in itself" (V110) and are "so delicate so mysterious . . . Delicate equilibrium of periodical filth between two moons balanced" (V147) he tells his son—and displayed in all its vitriolic harshness in Jason is a commonplace in recent discussions of the novel. Caddy's entry in the Appendix may refer to Quentin's perception of either her body or her maidenhead as "the foul instrument of [the family honor's] disgrace" (ML 336), but the genealogy as a whole elides the 1929 novel's emphasis on male Compson misogyny just as it evinces little or no interest in the unconscious desires of its characters. In describing Quentin as someone "who loved death above all who loved only death, loved, and lived in a deliberate and almost perverted anticipation of death" the Appendix strikingly ignores both his unconscious motivation and his tangled familial rela tionships in the 1929 Sound and the Fury (ML 335-36). Faulkner's eloquent thumbnail sketch of Quentin in the Appendix simply does not do justice to the richness of his earlier characterization. Although Faulkner may not have been deliberately closing off the dangerous pathways that he had explored earlier, the Appendix represents a deeply conservative re-reading or re-imagining of the 1929 Sound and the Fury.10
Faulkner's extensive commits on Quentin in the Appendix clearly had an impact upon critical discussion of the latter's motivation. Thus Vickery cites Faulkner on Quentin before writing that "Insofar as virginity is a concept, associated with virtue and honor, it becomes the center of Quentin's world" (37), and Dorothy Tuck refers to the same entry while arguing that Quentin makes "Caddy the repository of the Compson family honor,' rather than the object of his incestuous desires (27). Richard Chase too notes that Quentin's incestuous fantasies represent only his desire to remove Caddy and himself "to a transcendent realm", and to immolate ''their gross natural existence'' ( 229). Faulkner's new conception of Quentin's character in the Appendix affected readers who used the 1946 dual edition such as Frederick Hoffman who approvingly echoes Faulkner when he underscores Quentin's desire to rescue the family's "'honor' by arresting time and thus force decay out of the Compson world. He is in love with stasis, represented . . . by Caddy's virginity, and eventually by death itself" (54-55). In his influential portrayal of Quentin as an incestuously chaste lover, Cleanth Brooks as well owes a significant debt to Faulkner's Appendix: "Quentin is not really in love with his sister's body, only in love with a notion of virginity that he associates with her" and ultimately "with death itself" (327).11
Significantly, critics pursuing psychological readings of the novel that stress Quentin's incestuous desire for his sister have felt constrained to interrogate relentlessly the Appendixes authority. Thus as early as 1954, Carvel Collins cautioned readers that Faulkner's ''confusing" Appendix must not mislead them "into thinking that the feeling between Quentin and his sister Candace is entirely on some high moral or philosophical plane above the incestuous much as Quentin tries to put it there" (75).
In the essay in which this warning appeared, Collins was engaged in disputing the socio-historical view of the 1929 novel propounded by Cowley and his heirs and in setting forth his own ground-breaking psychoanalytical reading of Benjy, Quentin, and Jason as symbolic representations of Freud's id, ego, and superego. In discussing how Faulkner's "unrepressed and even undisguised" misogyny (109) manifests itself in the disturbing and forbidden incestuous games of some of his male characters, Albert Guerard too has questioned whether or not the 1929 novel bears out the Appendixes concern with Quentin's sense of honor: "His deepest concern would seem to be her loss of virginity per se rather than the loss of family honor" (118).
Like her siblings, Caddy also seems to have been reconceived somewhat in the Appendix. Faulkner writes movingly in Quentin's envy that she
With its significant differences from the 1929 Sound and the Fury, the Appendix provides a splendid example of how a later authorially-produced frame can help re-contextualize a literary work, leading some readers to overlook or even smooth some of the particularly egregious conflicts between the initial text and its subsequent frame. Indeed, the version of the text consulted in conjunction with the interpretive paradigm employed has often helped shade various premises, emphases, and conclusions concerning the novel.
Such an actual web of inextricably interconnected texts, both published and unpublished, suggests a notion of textuality at odds with the stable, fixed, impermeable conception that underlies modern eclectic editing. Like some textual scholars in the 1980s, Paul Eggert has proposed alternatively that
None of Polk's editions of The Sound and the Fury for Random House are complete scholarly editions, of course, nor were they meant to be. They are texts prepared in a scholarly fashion by a scrupulous editor for a commercial publisher who may have been reluctant to include even the editor's short list of editorial notes. Combining Polk's edited text with his 1985 Editorial Handbook to the novel, however, will yield much of what a modern Anglo-American scholarly edition normally contains: a text accurately and consistently constructed according to an explicitly stated set of assumptions and procedures, textual and historical notes, tables of the variants derived from the collations, and a list of all emendations to the text accompanied by explanations. Polk's reluctance to include the Appendix in either the Handbook or some recent editions of The Sound and the Fury may also have been influenced by the earlier ahistorical reliance on it as an authorial vade mecum to the 1929 Sound and the Fury, a reliance that pre-supposed a stable and unified intention on Faulkner's part that survived the years separating the composition of the novel and the Appendix. While unity was a significant aesthetic criterion of modernist literature and criticism, however, postmodern readers are more likely to postulate Faulkner's intentions as unstable, conflicted, and possibly non-recuperable.
After detailing some of the consequences of the numerous clashes between the 1929 Sound and the Fury and the Appendix, it may seem paradoxical for me to be troubled by Polk's banishment of the genealogy not only from his most widely accessible paperback editions of the novel but also from his editorial handbook. The exigencies of commercial publishing and his decision to exclude the Appendix from these editions, however, combine to obscure the process of The Sound and the Fury's textual production. At best, I would have preferred the Appendix to appear in Polk's first three edited texts of the novel and the Handbook, possibly set off with the type of qualifying introduction for the unwary reader that he includes in his 1992 Modern Library text. Including the piece would more easily enable scholars with other editorial or theoretical assumptions about literary texts and works to construct possible alternative texts of The Sound and the Fury.
One such alternative conception of textuality, for example, supplants the spatial metaphor with a temporal one, arguing that the authorially sanctioned appearance of the Appendix at the front and back of different editions of The Sound and the Fury created new and more conflicted authorial versions of the novel. Replacing singularity with multiplicity as a governing premise results thus in a work in progress, a dynamic series of inter-related and equally valid versions. Emphasizing inter-related versions and the temporal dimension of textual reproduction and developing apparatuses to represent this dimension is a significant feature of much of the rethinking of the editorial function in the decade that followed the publication of Polk's edition of The Sound and the Fury in 1984. As Hans Walter Gabler writes in "Unsought Encounters," these premises are central to contemporary German editorial scholarship with its structuralist conception of the literary text:
The distance between Polk's conception of the text and Gabler's delimits the broad range of choices that now confront an editor of The Sound and the Fury. Intentionalist Hershel Parker would use a notion of the determinate nature of the captive process to champion some early version of the text and thus avoid the sort of anomalous consequences that even the most deliberate authorial revisions of an original text might produce. Practitioners of French critique génétique and German textual criticism would present in an integral or synoptic apparatus much like Gabler's edition of Ulysses the transmissional record of The Sound and the Fury purged of indubitable errors. Using Peter Shillingsburg's arguments in Scholarly Editing in the Computer Age, another possibility would be a historical edition that prints one historical text of the novel with only transmissional corruptions corrected and displays in appendices the development of the authoritative authorial texts of The Sound and the Fury through their variants (42). At the 1989 Society for the Study of Textual Scholarship, Jerome McGann even suggested publishing multiple historical rather than authorial versions of a text as a practical consequence of the social contract theory of textual criticism he enunciated in A Critique of Modern Textual Criticism.
As a Faulkner scholar, I have become less interested over the years in determining the text of a Faulkner work than in paying attention to all of the authorial textual versions of that work and their various relationships. Thus the task of a scholarly editor of The Sound and the Fury, for me, is to providers many textual versions of the work as possible, with variants and their causes identified, so that readers may select or conflate or compile textual versions according to their own theoretical lights. Until electronic archives and editions become the scholarly norm, however, the economic realities of scholarly publishing ensure that one version will be presented, accompanied by tables of the relevant variants. The textual history of Faulkner's novel, suggests that editorial operations upon the historical reality of textual instability are interpretive acts that often implicitly and explicitly privilege one sort of textual orientation over others. These contests over the nature of text and work, as the case of The Sound and the Fury demonstrates, may and often do shape the parameters of interpretation. If we concede that there is no universal theory of textuality, then we cannot erase previous versions of Faulkner's novel, both commercial and scholarly, by omitting the Appendix. To do so is to make a part of the novel's literary and critical history more inaccessible in the name of a universal theory of textuality that may be little more than a chimera.
My thanks to both Phillip Doss and Noel Polk for reading a draft of this essay and providing a number of invaluable suggestions.
1. Blotner, Selected Letters of William Faulkner, 205. Hereafter cited parenthetically as "SL."
2. The question of the Appendix is only one of several intractable problems that face editors of The Sound and the Fury, problems that become more pressing when one notes that Faulkner was a Modernist writer in nothing so much as in his attempt to shape expressively his novel's punctuation, typography, and layout. In this respect, he resembles many of his peers who sought to poeticize prose by exploiting the full expressive potential of the print medium. Although the manuscript and carbon typescript for the first edition of The Sound and the Fury (1929) survive, the setting copy and galleys that would help document the extensive copyediting of the novel do not. Noel Polk discusses the various issues involved in editing the novel in the introduction to his Editorial Handbook for William Faulkner's "The Sound and the Fury'' (1-22).
3. Cowley, Faulkner-Cowley File, 21-22. Hereafter cited parenthetically as "FCF."
4. Within a year of Absalom's publication, Faulkner also offered to produce but never wrote "a chronology and genealogy and explanation, etc." for Maurice Coindreau who was translating The Sound and the Fury into French (SL 99).
5. While Jason kept his strongbox under aboard in his clothes closet in the 1929 novel, for example, the Appendix locates it in a locked bureau drawer. In the 1929 novel, Miss Dentin escapes from her locked room by climbing down a pear tree, but the tree is replaced by a rainpipe in the Appendix (PCF 41-2). Cowley also observed that the 1929 novel suggests Miss Quentin stole $3000 from Jason while the Appendix asserts she stole $4000 that Jason had diverted from Caddy's support payments plus $2840.50 of his own savings. The passages Cowley refers to are on p. 352 of Polk's 1987 Vintage edition of the 1929 novel and on pp. 344, 346 of his 1992 Modern Library edition of the 1929 novel and the Appendix. Unless otherwise stated, quotations from the 1929 Sound and the Fury and from the Appendix are from these two editions.
6. In February of 1946, Faulkner wrote Cowley that he wanted
7. The text of the 1946 Modern Library edition was first reprinted as a Modern Library paperback in 1954 and first published as a Vintage paperback in 1961. The 1946 Modern Library text forms the basis for the text in Random House's Faulkner Reader (1954) and for the 1959 New American Library Signet edition of the novel. The Appendix appears at the end of the novel in both the 1954 Reader and its reprint in the Modern Library but is located at the front of the 1959 New American Library Signet edition. Most of the relevant bibliographical information on The Sound and the Fury may be found in Meriwether's "Textual History"; "The Books of William Faulkner," p. 419; and "The Books of William Faulkner," pp. 268-69.
8. In 1962, Vintage reissued the novel's 1929 text in paper with "Appendix: Compson: 1699-1945" at the back of the volume (Polk 18). In 1966, a Modern Library reissue of the 1946 text also positioned the Appendix at the novel's rear, while Random House reissued the 1929 text of The Sound and the Fury without it. The next year saw the 1929 text reissued as a "Modern Library College Edition" in paperback with the Appendix once again at the rear.
9. Jason is also called Miss Quentin's "last remaining sane male relative" (ML 335) and "a sane man always" (ML 344).
10. Alternatively, Dawn Trouard has recently examined the "discrepancies and ruptures" (25) in the 1929 novel's representation of Caddy and the other Compson women, and argued that the Appendix continues to present in the persons of Melissa Meek and Caddy "a [feminist] model of the caring possibilities yet to be realized" (57). Similarly, Susan Donaldson has contended that the Compson Appendix is Faulkner's self-reflexive critique of "the [patriarchal] structures of narrative, authority, and gender defining" the 1929 Sound and the Fury (27-8).
11. Brooks's discussion of the novel in William Faulkner: The Yoknapatawpha Country (1963) draws its quotations from the 1946 Modern Library edition.
12. Readers of Faulkner's entry for Caddy may also be puzzled by the absence of any mention of her intense love for Dalton Ames during the summer of 1909, a central episode in the 1929 Sound and the Fury.
13. In his contribution to this
volume, Professor Eggert discusses D. H. Lawrence's Twilight in Italy
in relation to this notion of authorial intertextuality.