Content Warning: This guide contains references to slavery, racial violence, rape, incest, and suicide. The source text uses racial slurs including the n-word, which is reproduced and obscured in quotations in this guide.

“There would be the dim coffin-smelling gloom sweet and oversweet with the twice-bloomed wistaria against the outer wall by the savage quiet September sun impacted distilled and hyperdistilled.”

The use of the phrase “dim coffin-smelling gloom” not only appeals to the sense of smell but also sets a somber tone, hinting at mortality and the weight of the past. The image of the “twice-bloomed wistaria” introduces a layer of symbolism, evoking cycles and reflecting the recurring themes and histories within the novel. Words like “savage” and “quiet” juxtapose conflicting qualities, contributing to the novel’s broader exploration of the complex, contradictory nature of the South.

“Then hearing would reconcile and he would seem to listen to two separate Quentins now—the Quentin Compson preparing for Harvard in the South, the deep South dead since 1865 and peopled with garrulous outraged baffled ghosts, listening, having to listen…and the Quentin Compson who was still too young to deserve yet to be a ghost but nevertheless having to be one for all that, since he was born and bred in the deep South the same as she was.”

Faulkner employs stream-of-consciousness to delve into Quentin Compson’s complex interiority. The juxtaposition of the two Quentins reflects the fractured nature of the character’s identity, torn between the historical weight of the post-Civil War South and his personal struggles. The use of “reconcile” suggests an ongoing internal conflict, highlighting Quentin’s struggle to come to terms with the haunting legacy of the South’s past. The image of the South as a place “peopled with garrulous outraged baffled ghosts” contributes to the Southern Gothic atmosphere, portraying the region as haunted not only by historical events but by the persistent voices of those who lived through them. Faulkner’s exploration of Quentin’s sense of inevitability in becoming a “ghost” underscores the pervasive impact of Southern history on the individual, interweaving themes of identity, memory, and the past’s inescapable influence.

“What if it did destroy her family too? It’s going to turn and destroy us all someday, whether our name happens to be Sutpen or Coldfield or not.”

Faulkner introduces a prophetic and fatalistic tone, employing the motif of destruction to underscore the pervasive impact of historical forces on individuals and families. The rhetorical question “What if it did destroy her family too?” invites contemplation on the destructive nature of the past, suggesting that the weight of history has the potential to unravel even the most resilient family structures. The repetition of the word “destroy” emphasizes the inevitability and universality of this impending doom, extending beyond specific family names like Sutpen or Coldfield. Faulkner uses the collective pronoun “us” to underscore the communal vulnerability to the inexorable forces of time and history, unifying characters from different families under the shared burden of Southern legacy.

“[A] man who rode into town out of nowhere with a horse and two pistols and a herd of wild beasts that he had hunted down and caught in turn by the negroes—a man who fled here and hid, concealed himself behind respectability, behind that hundred miles of land which he took from a tribe of ignorant Indians, nobody knows how, and a house the size of a courthouse where he lived for three years without a window or door or bedstead in it and still called it Sutpen’s Hundred as if it had been a King’s grant in unbroken perpetuity from his great grandfather.”

The image of Sutpen riding into town “out of nowhere with a horse and two pistols” conjures a sense of frontier lawlessness and sets the stage for his unconventional and unpredictable nature. The metaphor of Sutpen concealing himself “behind respectability” hints at a dual identity, suggesting a man with a hidden, possibly darker past obscured by a facade of societal norms. The reference to Sutpen taking land from “a tribe of ignorant Indians” adds a layer of colonial critique, questioning the legitimacy and morality of Sutpen’s acquisition. The juxtaposition of the grandiose “house the size of a courthouse” lacking basic amenities like windows or doors introduces absurdity, symbolizing Sutpen’s outward display of wealth and power without the corresponding substance or comfort. The repetition of “Sutpen’s Hundred” as if it were a “King’s grant in unbroken perpetuity” highlights Sutpen’s arrogance and self-aggrandizement, portraying him as a man who constructs his own reality and legacy.

“And most of all, I do not plead myself: a young woman emerging from a holocaust which had taken parents security and all from her, who had seen all that living meant to her fall into ruins about the feet of a few figures with the shapes of men but with the names and statures of heroes.”

Rosa articulates the profound impact of the Civil War on her life, employing vivid imagery and powerful allusions to convey the depth of her suffering. Describing herself as a “young woman emerging from a holocaust,” Rosa paints a vivid picture of the war’s devastating effects, likening it to a catastrophic event that sweeps away everything, including her parents and the security she once knew. The phrase “all that living meant to her fall into ruins” metaphorically captures the sweeping destruction brought about by the Civil War, emphasizing the collapse of Rosa’s world and her fundamental understanding of life. The reference to “figures with the shapes of men but with the names and statures of heroes” suggests a disillusionment with the ideals associated with the war’s protagonists. It hints at the stark contrast between the romanticized image of heroic figures and the harsh reality of the war’s impact on individual lives. In this way, Faulkner utilizes Rosa’s narrative to delve into the psychological aftermath of the Civil War, portraying it as a transformative and devastating force that shattered not only the physical landscape but also the very fabric of personal existence.

“Yes, fatality and curse on the South and on our family as though because some ancestor of ours had elected to establish his descent in a land primed for fatality and already cursed with it, even if it had not rather been our family, our father’s progenitors, who had incurred the curse long years before and been coerced by Heaven into establishing itself in the land and the time already cursed.”

Faulkner explores fate, curses, and the inescapable legacy of the South. The repetition of the words “fatality” and “curse” imbues the passage with a sense of inevitability, suggesting an inescapable destiny that hangs over both the South and the family. This language conveys a fatalistic outlook, where the characters grapple with the idea that their circumstances are predetermined and beyond their control. The phrase “land primed for fatality” introduces a geographical dimension to the notion of curse, implying that the South itself is inherently predisposed to tragedy and misfortune. The idea of ancestors electing to establish their descent in such a place adds a layer of agency, raising questions about the responsibility of past generations in shaping the destiny of the family. The ambiguity in the passage—whether it was the family or their father’s progenitors who incurred the curse—reflects the blurred lines between personal and ancestral culpability. The reference to being “coerced by Heaven” introduces a religious element, suggesting a divine force at play in the unfolding of events. This religious undertone adds a layer of complexity to the characters’ contemplation of their situation, as they grapple with the interplay between free will and preordained fate.

“It was a day of listening too—the listening, the hearing in 1909 even yet mostly that which he already knew since he had been born in and still breathed the same air in which the church bells had rung on that Sunday morning in 1833 (and, on Sundays, heard even one of the original three bells in the same steeple where descendants of the same pigeons strutted and crooned or wheeled in short courses resembling soft fluid paint-smears on the soft summer sky).”

The emphasis on “listening” and “hearing” creates a thread that connects the past and present, suggesting that the act of listening transcends temporal boundaries. The mention of the church bells ringing on a Sunday morning in 1833 anchors the narrative in a specific historical moment, highlighting the endurance of traditions and the continuity of life in the South. The incorporation of details like the “descendants of the same pigeons” adds a layer of symbolism, drawing parallels between the ongoing existence of pigeons and the enduring nature of familial legacies. The pigeons become symbolic carriers of history, mirroring the multigenerational persistence of the characters in the narrative. The vivid imagery of the pigeons “strutting and crooning” or “wheeled in short courses” contributes to a sense of cyclical motion, emphasizing the repetitive nature of history and the perpetuation of cultural and familial patterns. The notion of breathing “the same air” underscores the characters’ intimate connection to the South’s physical and cultural landscape. Faulkner’s language in this quote not only captures sensory experiences but also explores the ways memory, tradition, and the passage of time intersect.

“Yes, he had corrupted Ellen to more than renegadery, though, like her, unaware that his flowering was a forced blooming too and that while he was still playing the scene to the audience, behind him fate, destiny, retribution, irony—the stage manager, call him what you will—was already striking the set and dragging on the synthetic and spurious shadows and shape of the next one.”

The phrase “corrupted Ellen to more than renegadery” suggests a profound moral and emotional transformation, alluding to corruption that goes beyond mere rebellion. The use of the word “corrupted” implies a subversion of established norms and hints at the character’s role in altering Ellen’s moral fabric. The notion of the character being “unaware that his flowering was a forced blooming” introduces an undercurrent of deception and illusion. The metaphor of “flowering” conveys a sense of growth and development, but the qualifier “forced” suggests an external imposition or manipulation. This creates tension between the character’s apparent agency in playing a scene and the underlying forces that shape and constrain their actions.

The imagery of “fate, destiny, retribution, irony—the stage manager” introduces theatrical elements, emphasizing the performative nature of life and the presence of unseen forces orchestrating events. The metaphorical use of a “stage manager” implies a guiding hand behind the scenes, shaping the narrative and determining the course of the characters’ lives. The reference to “synthetic and spurious shadows and shape of the next one” adds a layer of existential complexity, suggesting that what follows is not an authentic reality but is rather constructed and artificial.

“Ellen was dead two years now—the butterfly, the moth caught in a gale and blown against a wall and clinging there beating feebly.”

Faulkner employs vivid and symbolic imagery to convey not only Ellen’s death during the war but the broader metaphorical implications for the South. The comparison of Ellen to a “butterfly, the moth caught in a gale” evokes a fragile and ephemeral existence, emphasizing the vulnerability of individuals within the turbulent and harsh conditions of the South, particularly during the decline of its wealth and glory. The imagery of the butterfly or moth being “blown against a wall and clinging there beating feebly” captures a sense of helplessness and struggle against insurmountable forces. The butterfly and the gale are a metaphor for the South caught in the whirlwind of historical and sociopolitical changes. The feeble wings may symbolize the futile efforts to preserve a way of life that is being eroded by external forces.

“It just does not explain. Or perhaps that’s it: they don’t explain and we are not supposed to know. We have a few old mouth-to-mouth tales.”

In this quote from Mr. Compson, Faulkner delves into the elusive nature of storytelling and interpretation, highlighting the narrative’s inherent ambiguity and complexity. The statement “It just does not explain” reflects the frustration and limitation in attempting to unravel the intricate web of events and motivations within the story. This sentiment underscores a central theme in the novel: the difficulty, if not impossibility, of fully understanding the past and its implications. The phrase “Or perhaps that’s it: they don’t explain, and we are not supposed to know” introduces a layer of intentional ambiguity. It suggests that the narrative deliberately withholds clarity, inviting readers to grapple with uncertainty and the elusive nature of truth. Faulkner challenges conventional expectations of storytelling, emphasizing that some aspects of the story may resist straightforward explanation, fostering a sense of mystery and intrigue.

The acknowledgment of “a few old mouth-to-mouth tales” draws attention to the oral tradition and the inherently subjective nature of storytelling. The reliance on oral transmission implies a lack of objective documentation, leaving room for the distortion of facts, personal biases, and the interplay of memory and imagination. This aspect aligns with Faulkner’s broader exploration of the unreliability of historical narratives and the malleability of truth. In the context of storytelling and interpretation in the book, Mr. Compson’s words underscore Faulkner’s narrative technique, characterized by multiple perspectives, fragmented chronology, and blending fact and fiction. The novel becomes a testament to the interpretative challenges inherent in reconstructing the past, with each character offering a subjective and often conflicting account.

“We have waited long enough. You will notice how I do not insult you either by saying I have waited long enough. And therefore, since I do not insult you by saying that only I have waited, I do not add, expect me. Because I cannot say when to expect me. Because what WAS is one thing, and now it is not because it is dead, it died in 1861, and therefore what IS—(There. They have started firing again. Which—to mention it—is redundancy too, like the breathing or the need of ammunition. Because sometimes I think it has never stopped. It hasn’t stopped of course; I don’t mean that. I mean, there has never been any more of it, that there was that one fusillade four years ago which sounded once and then was arrested, mesmerized raised muzzle by raised muzzle.”

This is the opening of Charles Bon’s letter to Judith, in which it is implied that he will, at some point, propose marriage. The statement “what WAS is one thing, and now it is not because it is dead” encapsulates the novel’s theme of the irreparable loss and transformation brought about by the Civil War. The year 1861 marks a turning point, the death of the antebellum South, and the reference to ongoing gunfire not only captures the current moment but is a metaphor for the persistent echoes of the war that haunt the characters after 1865. The mention of redundancy, comparing the firing to breathing or the need for ammunition, adds a layer of existential reflection. Charles Bon’s contemplation of the never-ending fusillade suggests a psychological and emotional struggle as if the war continues to reverberate within him and those around him.

“Once there was (they cannot have told you this either) a summer of wistaria. It was a pervading everywhere of wistaria (I was fourteen then) as though of all springs yet to capitulate condensed into one spring, one summer: the spring and summertime which is every female’s who breathed above dust, beholden of all betrayed springs held over from all irrevocable time, repercussed, bloomed again. It was a vintage year of wistaria: vintage year being that sweet conjunction of root bloom and urge and hour and weather; and I (I was fourteen).”

This quote, spoken by Rosa Coldfield, uses evocative language and vivid imagery to convey nostalgia and the enduring impact of a specific moment in time. The parenthetical remark “they cannot have told you this either” creates an immediate connection with the reader, implying a sense of intimacy and shared secrets that Rosa is now divulging. Rosa’s recollection of a summer filled with wisteria, a flowering vine known for its cascading clusters of fragrant blooms, is a metaphor for the fleeting beauty and complexity of youth, femininity, and memory. The phrase “Once there was” establishes a tone of retrospection, allowing Rosa to revisit a significant period in her life. The description of the summer as a convergence of all springs and summers condensed into one reflects Rosa’s attempt to encapsulate the richness and intensity of that particular season. The imagery of wisteria becoming “every female’s who breathed above dust” adds a universal quality to the experience, suggesting that the beauty and significance of that summer extend beyond Rosa’s recollections. The phrase “all betrayed springs held over from all irrevocable time” introduces a note of melancholy, implying that the fleeting nature of spring and summer, representative of youth and vitality, is inevitably touched by the passage of time and the burdens of life. The word “repercussed” suggests a reverberation of past seasons, emphasizing their lasting impact on Rosa.

“[C]alled, shouted for me until I came down. He had not even waited to tether his horse; he stood with the reins over his arm (and no hand on my head now) and spoke the bald outrageous words exactly as if he were consulting with Jones or with some other man about a bitch dog or a cow or mare. They will have told you how I came back home. Oh yes, I know: ‘Rosie Coldfield, lose him, weep him; caught a man but couldn’t keep him.’”

This quote details Rosa’s recollection of Sutpen’s abrupt and harsh behavior during their engagement. His commands—“called, shouted for me until I came down”—suggest urgency and impatience on Sutpen’s part, underscoring his disregard for Rosa’s feelings and the gravity of the situation. Not waiting to tether his horse symbolizes his cavalier attitude, treating the significant moment as casually as if he were discussing mundane matters. The parenthetical remark “(and no hand on my head now)” introduces a contrast, emphasizing the absence of the comforting gesture that might be expected during a moment of emotional distress. This absence symbolizes Sutpen’s emotional detachment and underscores Rosa’s isolation.

His use of “bald outrageous words” further emphasizes the shocking nature of his discourse. The comparison to consulting about animals—“about a bitch dog or a cow or mare”—dehumanizes Rosa, reducing her to the status of livestock. This dehumanization reflects Sutpen’s objectification of Rosa—as well as the patriarchal power structures at play—and his inability to recognize the emotional nuances of human relationships. The line “They will have told you how I came back home” introduces an element of societal judgment and gossip, suggesting that Rosa is aware of the rumors and whispers surrounding her failed engagement. The sarcastic self-awareness in the lines “Rosie Coldfield, lose him, weep him; caught a man but couldn’t keep him”—mimicking the cadence of a children’s rhyme—conveys Rosa’s bitterness and resentment toward the societal expectations placed on women, reducing their worth to their ability to secure and maintain a man.

“It seemed to Quentin that he could actually see them, facing one another at the gate. Inside the gate what was once a park now spread, unkempt, in shaggy desolation, with an air dreamy, remote and aghast like the unshaven face of a man just waking from ether, up to a huge house where a young girl waited in a wedding dress made from stolen scraps, the house partaking too of that air of scaling desolation, not having suffered from invasion but a shell marooned and forgotten in a backwater of catastrophe—a skeleton giving of itself in slow driblets of furniture and carpet, linen and silver.”

This passage captures the eerie atmosphere surrounding the Sutpen mansion, emphasizing the aftermath of the tragic events of the war and Charles Bon’s murder, the decay of the once-grand estate, and an overall Southern Gothic ambiance. The description of the unkempt park as “shaggy desolation” and the house as a “skeleton” marooned in a backwater of catastrophe paints a vivid picture of the physical and emotional decay that has befallen the Sutpen family. The comparison of the park to the unshaven face of a man waking from ether adds a layer of disorientation and aghast beauty to the scene, mirroring the unsettling aftermath of Henry’s violent act. The mention of a young girl (Judith) waiting in a wedding dress made from stolen scraps hints at the pervasive sense of loss, disruption, and moral decay within the Sutpen legacy. This passage encapsulates the haunting and atmospheric qualities characteristic of Southern Gothic literature, as well as Faulkner’s exploration of the enduring consequences of tragedy on the South’s physical and psychological landscapes.

“And yet this old gal, this Aunt Rosa, told you that some one was hiding out there and you said it was Clytie or Jim Bond and she said No and you said it would have to be because the demon was dead and Judith was dead and Bon was dead and Henry gone so far he hadn’t even left a grave: and she said No and so you went out there, drove the twelve miles at night in a buggy and you found Clytie and Jim Bond both in it and you said You see? and she (the Aunt Rosa) still said No and so you went on: and there was?”

The dialogue-driven narrative, with its repetitive structure and contradictory assertions, contributes to the overall atmosphere of uncertainty. By employing the first-person perspective, Faulkner draws the reader into Quentin’s subjective experience, emphasizing the complexity of truth and the unreliability of memory. The repetition of “No” from Aunt Rosa challenges Quentin’s assumptions, highlighting the elusive nature of the hidden truth. The nighttime setting and the journey to the desolate Sutpen estate add to the suspense, creating a Southern Gothic ambiance that aligns with Faulkner’s exploration of the region’s troubled history.

“What I learned was that there was a place called the West Indies to which poor men went in ships and became rich, it didn’t matter how, so long as that man was clever and courageous: the latter of which I believed that I possessed, the former of which I believed that, if it were to be learned by energy and will in the school of endeavor and experience, I should learn.”

Thomas Sutpen’s contemplation of the West Indies provides a glimpse into his aspirations within the context of slavery and colonialism. Faulkner employs Sutpen’s first-person narrative to explore the character’s psyche, revealing a keen focus on wealth accumulation in a region synonymous with the exploitative practices of slavery. Sutpen’s assertion that becoming rich in the West Indies didn’t hinge on the method reflects his pragmatic approach, hinting at a willingness to navigate the morally complex terrain of colonialism for personal gain. By channeling Sutpen’s voice, Faulkner allows readers to witness the character’s internal rationalizations, adding layers to his personality. This passage contributes to the broader ideas of ambition, self-made identity, and the moral repercussions of the unbridled pursuit of success within the historical context of slavery and colonial exploitation.

“[A] soil manured with black blood from two hundred years of oppression and exploitation until it sprang with an incredible paradox of peaceful greenery and crimson flowers and sugar cane sapling size and three times the height of a man.”

The metaphor of the soil fertilized with “black blood” encapsulates the deep-rooted history of slavery and the brutal exploitation of African Americans in the American South. The juxtaposition of “peaceful greenery” and “crimson flowers” against this backdrop of violence and suffering creates a stark and paradoxical visual contrast. The mention of sugarcane, a crop historically associated with plantation economies and enslaved labor, adds layers of meaning, symbolizing both the economic prosperity built on human suffering and the enduring legacy of that exploitation.

“So that Sunday came, a year after that day and three years after he had suggested to Miss Rosa that they try it first and if it was a boy and lived, they would be married.”

The sentence encapsulates the cyclical nature of events and the repercussions of Henry Sutpen’s initial proposal to Rosa Coldfield. The use of a specific time reference—“a year after that day and three years after”—anchors the narrative in a chronological framework, emphasizing the temporal progression of the characters’ lives. The mention of the suggested plan to try marriage if the child is a boy and lives introduces a sense of foreboding, hinting at the intricate web of relationships and decisions that will unfold in the story.

“Quentin (the Southerner, whose blood ran quick to cool, more supple to compensate for violent changes of temperature perhaps, perhaps merely nearer the surface).”

In this passage, Faulkner uses Quentin as a lens through which to explore the nuances of Southern identity and temperament. The description of Quentin’s blood running “quick to cool” and being “more supple to compensate for violent changes of temperature” serves as a metaphor for the Southern psyche and as an echo of the violent, turbulent natures of Thomas and Henry Sutpen.

“He must not marry her, Henry. His mother’s father told me that her mother had been a Spanish woman. I believed him; it was not until after he was born that I found out that his mother was part n*****.”

The conflict arises from the disclosure of Charles Bon’s diverse racial heritage, emphasizing the societal taboos and prejudices prevalent in the Southern context. The phrase “He must not marry her, Henry” encapsulates the racial prejudices deeply embedded in the characters, portraying a society in which interracial unions are unacceptable (and illegal). The degree of prejudice against interracial marriage is emphasized by Henry’s willingness to accept incest but unwillingness to accept his sister marrying someone with Black ancestry.

“‘I didn’t know there were ten in Mississippi that went to school at one time,’ Shreve said. Quentin didn’t answer.”

In this brief exchange between Shreve and Quentin, Faulkner employs subtle dialogue to highlight the contrast between the North and the South, emphasizing the educational disparities between the two regions. Shreve’s joke—that less than 10 people in Mississippi have gone to college simultaneously—reflects a Northern stereotype of the South as less educated. Quentin’s silence in response speaks volumes, indicating an acknowledgment of the regional stereotype; he does not laugh along, but he does not argue, either.

“‘Miss Rosa,’ Quentin said. ‘All right. You dont even know about her. Except that she refused at the last to be a ghost. That after almost fifty years she couldn’t reconcile herself to letting him lie dead in peace.’”

This passage unveils Miss Rosa’s defiance against fading into obscurity or being passive in the face of history. Faulkner uses Quentin’s dialogue to build intrigue around Miss Rosa’s character, setting the stage for further exploration of her motivations and actions within the intricate web of the Sutpen saga.

“Surely it can harm no one to believe that perhaps she has escaped not at all the privilege of being outraged and amazed and of not forgiving but on the contrary has herself gained that place or borne where the objects of the outrage and of the commiseration also are no longer ghosts but are actual people to be actual recipients of the hatred and the pity.”

The narrator contemplates the possibility that Miss Rosa has not escaped this privilege but has gained a different perspective. The notion that Miss Rosa has “borne” or carried this perspective implies a burden or responsibility. The passage delves into the complexities of forgiveness, portraying it as a nuanced process that involves acknowledging the humanity of those who evoke outrage and pity.

“You’ve got one n***** left. One n***** Sutpen left. Of course you can’t catch him and you don’t even always see him and you never will be able to use him. But you’ve got him there still. You still hear him at night sometimes. Don’t you?”

Shreve confronts Quentin with the harsh reality of the remnants of the Sutpen dynasty. The use of the racial slur underscores the dehumanizing impact of racism, and Shreve’s directness adds a raw, unfiltered quality to the dialogue. The phrase “you can’t catch him” suggests the elusive nature of this remaining figure, highlighting the inability to fully understand or control the consequences of the Sutpen legacy. The mention of hearing him at night adds an eerie, haunting quality, suggesting that the specter of racial issues and the legacy of slavery continue to reverberate through time.