5/5 stars
What's it about? This masterpiece centers on a collision of strangers in Jefferson, Mississippi, the murder of a white abolitionist, and the resulting interplay of race, faith, and morality. Joe Christmas, an enraged and lonely orphan struggling with questions about his own heritage, faces the consequences of his violence. Young and pregnant Lena Grove learns the power of her beauty and helplessness as she pursues her child’s father, ensnaring a besotted Byron Bunch. Gail Hightower, the disgraced minister, offers counsel and judgment as he reckons with his failings. Told in flashbacks, conversation, and through the perspectives of minor players, such as the trigger-happy wannabe soldier Percy Grimm, the novel is an immersive experience of the Prohibition-era American South.
How’d I find it? This book has been among my belongings for so many years that I don’t even know how I acquired it. I certainly can’t remember buying this boxed set of works by Faulkner, whose face appears across the spines if you arrange the titles in the right order. Did my spouse blend Light in August into our books when we married? Perhaps I inherited it from a friend who moved away, a common occurrence when you’re the one in your social circles known as a shelter to all unhoused books?
Who will enjoy this book? Those who love Toni Morrison’s work, particularly Sula and Song of Solomon, and The Executioner’s Song by Norman Mailer should appreciate Light in August.
What stood out? Some of the most incredible writing I’ve read in a long time can be found in chapter 20, devoted to our final glimpse of Gail Hightower as he contemplates at dusk. Faulkner delves deep into his characters’ psyches as the story builds towards a brutal conclusion that cultivates page-turning dread. The novel closes with a much-needed serving of humor, a genius move by Faulkner after 400 pages of heavy.
Which line made me feel something? On being complicit in someone’s death and watching them die: “…upon that black blast the man seemed to rise soaring into their memories forever and ever. They are not to lose it, in whatever peaceful valleys, beside whatever placid and reassuring streams of old age, in the mirroring faces of whatever children they will contemplate old disasters and newer hopes. It will be there, musing, quiet, steadfast, not fading and not particularly threatful, but of itself alone serene, of itself alone triumphant.”