As I Lay Dying

1. In As I Lay Dying, Faulkner’s experiments with interior monologue and mobile perspective allow us to see the Bundren family from multiple perspectives, including their own, their neighbors’, and outsiders’. Citing evidence from the text, make an argument for the dignity and/or absurdity of these characters. Are they (or any one of them) heroes? Or are they clownish goobers?

*        *        *

I wouldn’t go so far as to say they are clownish goobers. However, the Bundrens’ are certainly not heroes. Faulkner’s story depicts a parody of the typical heroic adventure—we follow a poor, dysfunctional Southern family and watch initial pretenses of familial love devolve into selfishness. This is no fairytale prince prancing through fantasy kingdoms, searching for their princess. The Bundrens’ journey to Jefferson serves as an ironic retelling of the typical hero’s journey, in which each Bundren ‘hero’ prevails through dramatic but extremely pointless trials. Their deeds mirror stereotypical feats of heroism on the surface, but belie a reality where each hero’s motivations are self-serving. The Bundrens are a much more realistic portrayal of the average human, so I suppose you could say Faulkner is taking a dig at the overused, unrealistic template of the hero’s journey: real heroes don’t exist, even within the ties of blood. Humans are simply too selfish. 

Heroic feats such as fording the river and braving injuries and catastrophe fit right into a typical hero’s journey. But beneath this veneer of brave sacrifice for Addie’s dying wishes are each of the characters’ real, selfish motivations. So though outwardly we see a family heroically persevering for their beloved mother, there only exists Faulkner’s reality of a motley crew happening to band together towards Jefferson for their own arbitrary reasons. Not heroes, only everyday people. We could say that Anse is going to Jefferson for his teeth. We could say that he got over her so fast he’s already looking for a new wife on the way. Like wives and mothers are a quick clean buy-and-swap. We could say that Dewey Dell is more preoccupied with what’s going on inside her reproductive system than anything happening to Addie. That Cash is more concerned about the actual coffin, the straightness of the boards and nails than the corpse inside. Or maybe a graphophone waiting for him in Jefferson. And little Vardaman, though torn apart by his mother’s passing, is drawn in by bananas and toys and such things for children. But on the surface, everyone’s on the way to Jefferson to bury their beloved mother. So it’s like a cruel jab how little prose space, screentime we get for Addie’s actual burial after all that trouble. Laying her to rest was supposed to be the final culmination of all the Bundrens’ efforts, but it’s barely a sentence hidden so you could miss it if you just blinked.

There are some characters I think are more fun to focus on. For example, Dewey Dell looks to be a good daughter, torn by sorrow from her mother’s death. But even as she throws herself across Addie’s corpse with grief, her mind is drawn elsewhere to the issues of her sexuality. She is no hero; Dewey Dell is a self-absorbed teenage girl that instead serves to portray a more realistic, flawed character. Dewey Dell is consistently preoccupied with her abortion. To Dewey Dell, Peabody was never her mother’s potential savior or last-resort hope. As soon as she laid eyes on Peabody Dewey Dell could only think of all the things he could do for her and her unwanted child. Immediately following Addie’s death, Dewey Dell reflects that “I would not let it grieve me, now. She was old, and sick too. Suffering more than we knew. She couldn’t have got well….” Addie’s death passed by and was quickly eclipsed by Dewey Dell’s own issues, as she brushed aside any hopes or regrets of what Peabody could have done for a surely dying woman and thought of everything he could do for her. She looked at Peabody: “You could do so much for me if you just would. If you just knew” (34). Again, “he could do so much for me if he just would. He could do everything for me” (39). Her mind can never leave herself. Addie’s death is only an intermittent distrubance within chapters mainly focused on the new, quickly growing life inside of her, just as her trip to Jefferson becomes a search—stopping at doctors and medicine stores—for abortion meds. It’s a shame that she never found the medicisnes, and was even almost used again by one of the sellers for sex. Dewey Dell may be a selfish cahracter, but she is not an unsympathetic one. As the sole female in a ragtag male family, she alone bears all the repressed sexual tension and gender oppression as a young teenage girl. You could call her a sob story. But not really a hero, since her ‘journey’ ends up going nowhere: no development, no growth, only a continual obsession with her sexuality.  

Anse Bundren in particular exemplifies the antihero character pattern Faulkner likes to set up. His actions and motivations are at odds, as if Faulker is seeking to dismantle the idea of heroic journeys by showing the real desires behind seemingly heroic deeds. Even as his wife lays dying his thoughts grow bitter: “Making me pay for it. She was well and hale as ere a woman ever were, except for that road…. “You lay you down and rest you,” I said. “I knowed you are not sick. You’re just tired. You lay you down and rest” (26). No, she can’t be sick. She’ll get better tomorrow. To Anse, these truths must manifest because Addie’s life is a great convenience to him. In fact, her sickness causes him more work and stress and she might as well be ‘making him pay for it.’ I’m not sure if there’s a character more unempathetic and unlikeable than Anse in this story—his greatest desire and driving motivation is borderline (not even borderline, it actually just is) comical: teeth. “And now I got to pay for it, me without a tooth in my head, hoping to get ahead enough so I could get my mouth fixed where I could eat God’s own victuals as a man should” is what crosses his mind as Addie dies (27). Teeth, teeth, teeth. What Anse covets is materialistic things. It’s fitting that a wife is only another checkbox on his shopping list, as a new Mrs. Bundren has come to replace the old as soon as the casket’s in the ground. I love how by the end of the novel, all the character’s desires come to fruition in the most lovely, ironic way: Anse’s new wife, who helped them bury his old one, joining the Bundren’s with Cash’s graphophone in hand, half-eaten bananas and Anse’s new teeth flashing in the light. And Darl is gone from their minds like a dream, just like Addie. Just like that. “Meet Mrs. Bundren,” he says (158). Faulkner’s story is no hero’s journey; his characters are no heroes. These beautifully-crafted, nuanced lives and very human desires just suggest that we should have a little more doubt in any hero’s journey. Take those shiny tales and brave deeds with a grain of salt; so many of them are only impressive on the surface. Below is the mess and tangle of Bundren-esque selfishness, jealousy, guilt, and pride we see in Anse, Dewey Dell…. and all those other characters I’ve now run out of space to talk about.