One of my courses I’m taking this semester is “American Literature,” and let me tell you… reading this stuff has been a trip. Some of it has been quite good… I have a new appreciation for Edith Wharton, although I don’t like her work I can at least say I don’t hate it… oh, and I now “get” Modernism as a genre, even if I think it’s awful. At least I understand the underpinning concepts, and I can respect them in the same way I can respect a Picasso and yet never want one in my house.
But Faulkner. Yeesh. His language is “spicy.” The argument that will be made (that is always made) is that it was acceptable language back then. The same argument is leveled against Twain, and in both cases I get it… but I still don’t like it.
Of course, part of this is because Faulkner probably thought there was nothing wrong with his choice in words. And I think there is nothing wrong with my choice of words… but who’s to say in a hundred years? Two hundred? If it happens during my lifetime, sure, I’ll happily fix it and apologize for my blindness. It happens to all of us. But if it happens afterwards? Or should I say when it happens afterwards? The fact that there may be people around saying that they “shouldn’t” fix my work because it would change my intent… that’s a weird thought to have in my head. I don’t know how it makes me feel. But I don’t like it. But there’s also nothing I can do about it except for being as conscious as I can be now so that when it does happen everyone already knows I wouldn’t protest to changing my work to be less insulting.
Hope everyone out there is staying safe and healthy!