e.l. doctorow, faulkner, hemingway, courage
i’ve read e.l. doctorow with that sense that i am supposed to like what i am reading and i always feel as though i’ve missed something. he gets put on the shelf, over and over again, with a sense that someday, one day, i shall read him and it will have a sense of expansive bliss, some opening, blossoming sense of wonder that i’ve missed to date. he is one of those authors where i always think, ‘it’s me, not him’
his article in the nyrbs on 24 May 2012 reminds me again that this is likely the right thought. in four columns he makes me nod my head at faulkner’s famous remark that hemingway lacked courage. as a writer.
at the end of the article, doctorow writes this:
and so it is possible for us now to begin to understand what he meant in his criticism of his colleague ernest hemingway; not merely that hemingway was technically undaring, but that, in thrall to the romance of the self, he had never tapped the human psyche to the depth of its raw existence, or written of characters not defined by the familiar constructs of social reality.
it has been a significantly long time since i read As I Lay Dying. I rooted about a friends apartment the other day for a copy, mine long since having gone who knows where. doctorow having handed me a desire to open the book and be reminded of, in particular, ‘the stubborn domination of their cunningly passive father’.
my only concern is that doctorow’s well considered and beautifully written essay will taste better than the faulkner i can barely remember. yet a man who speaks of it with such admiration of the language and tone, for, as he says, ‘As I Lay Dying does not look up to its characters, or down, but maintains them at eye level, where we sense that a scrupulous dispassion gives faulkner access to the unmediated truth.’
go. read both.
