William Faulkner – The Wild Palms (1939)
Novel – 240 pages – my copy (paperback; 1991) bought for £2.50 from the Beardie’s Bookstore on Plymouth Barbican, summer of 2009
- 2 nods
Novel – 240 pages – my copy (paperback; 1991) bought for £2.50 from the Beardie’s Bookstore on Plymouth Barbican, summer of 2009
- 2 nods
Mr Faulkner is widely regarded as one of the great novelists of American fiction. He penned some of the Worm’s personal favourite books, such as As I Lay Dying and the majestic The Sound and The Fury. The late 1920s and 1930s were a time of dazzling creativity for Faulkner; but what of his later novels, such as The Wild Palms, coming in the year when Hitler decided to cause havoc across Europe?
The Wild Palms most striking feature is that it perhaps isn’t a novel at all, but rather two novellas cut up and pieced together. The two stories are Wild Palms, in which a couple decide to forsake their carved out lives in the hope of living – to borrow the book’s blurb – ‘life on their own terms.’ The second story, Old Man, finds an escaped convict who cannot adjust to the outside world, having been incarcerated for so long.
To be quite blunt, neither story is exceptional. Whereas Faulkner’s earlier novels stunned, The Wild Palms merely plods along. Why the break up of two stories? Despite some critical attempts at constructing a single idea – ‘All are prisoners, if only of themselves’ – there is nothing unifying other than they both came from Faulkner’s hand. A different story could take the place of Old Man and the book would be no better nor worse for it.
Of the two, Wild Palms is the better story. It has movement, it has characters and it has thought. However, at no point do the likes of Harry or Charlotte grab the reader in the same ways that the likes of Caddy or Jason do from The Sound and The Fury. Here, the speech is contrived; the settings too similar of Hollywood; Faulkner, the once daring novelist, now tamed by the riches of screen-writing.
Like all great writers, Faulkner appears to have his faults, too. The Wild Palms is not an especially bad novel; but it is one that does not stand up to the heavyweight heights of its other succesful siblings.
