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"ROOM TO BREATHE": NARRATIVE ANACRHONY AND SUFFOCATION IN WILLIAM FAULKNER'S "PANTALOON IN BLACK".

Pantaloon in Black," the third chapter of William Faulkner's Go Down, Moses (1942), is separated into two sections--first, a section focalized through a black laborer named Rider, and second, one focalized through the white deputy who was "officially in charge of the business" (GDM 116) of clearing away Rider's body after the unrepresented lynching that divides his section from the first. Although Faulkner presents the central scene of violence as itself "unnarratable" (Prince 2), an as yet unstudied narrative phenomenon depicts Rider's physical experience as anticipating his unseen murder: before actually being lynched, Rider repeatedly experiences suffocation. Following from the death of his young wife Mannie and his resulting loss of autonomy, Rider's attacks function as a link between his eventual death by hanging and his disenfranchisement as a black man--unable to protect, or to afford to care for, his loved one. While an integral element of the story arc of "Pantaloon in Black," Rider's suffocation also functions structurally. Because it anticipates the central act of unrepresented violence, Rider's experience can be conceived of in terms of Genette's "prolepsis" (67) as ordering the chapter towards the hanging, suggesting that Rider's life and death contain the same potential choked out by post-Emancipation white supremacy.

"Pantaloon in Black" is not Faulkner's first fictional attempt to grapple with the legacy of American lynching. Prior to the publication of Go Down, Moses, three texts had already struggled with the question of how to represent racist mob violence, and whom to hold accountable for its proliferation. The short story "Dry September" (1931) and the novels Sanctuary (1931) and Light in August (1932) introduced lynching as a repeated motif in Faulkner's oeuvre before the publication of Go Down, Moses. However, it is in "Pantaloon in Black" that Faulkner makes his most overt criticism of lynching practices. The shift represented by the third chapter of the novel not only concerns a lynching that does not result from accusations of sexual violence--the usual representation of lynching in his previous work and elsewhere--but it also importantly widens the field of reflection on racist violence that the earlier three texts explored. While an obvious critique of the Southern ideologies that justify vigilante violence is still present in the novel, Go Down, Moses attempts more than many of Faulkner's earlier works to capture both black subjectivity and the ways racism makes access to that subjectivity impossible, inconceivable, or merely inconvenient for members of white society.

Contrasting Rider's murder with Faulkner's three earlier representations of lynching, Edward Clough argues that in "Dry September," Sanctuary, and Light in August, Faulkner "typically read lynching as a white phenomenon.... Yet when [he] returned to the theme a decade later in Go Down, Moses, he ... instead presented lynching as fundamentally a traumatic black experience, a threat to domesticity and individual subjecthood" (394). As Clough notes, it is important for this reason that the reader of "Pantaloon" actually witnesses the crime for which Rider is murdered (as distinct from the earlier texts), as well as the traumatic frame of mind that results in his resistance to an abusive system of wage labor. Together, the erroneous assumptions of guilt that result in Will Mayes's ("Dry September") and Lee Goodwin's (Sanctuary) deaths, or the misunderstanding surrounding Joe Christmas's murder (but not rape) of Joanna Bundren (Light in August), demonstrate an unbridled white supremacist thirst for blood that is driven more by the need to kill than by any desire to restore justice. In contrast, although "Pantaloon" also centers upon the erasure of Rider's legitimate criticism of systematic labor oppression, it does so only after giving the reader access to what had previously been an unrepresentable black consciousness.

While the original three lynching narratives veer away from the internal experiences of the black characters who will suffer most violently from Jim Crow racism, the focalization of "Pantaloon in Black" through Rider illustrates his emotional and physical reality prior to his death. Offsetting the intentional absence of the lynching from the narrative discourse of "Pantaloon," Rider's bodily ordeal provides access to his extended suffering that only culminates with, but is not fully caused by, his murder. As readers of the text, we are witness to the legitimacy of Rider's anger with the white forces that control his life, the intent behind his murder of the white mill guard Birdsong who had "been running crooked dice on them mill niggers for fifteen years" (GDM 118), and the removal of his death from the public eye. Thus, the circumstances surrounding Rider's death in "Pantaloon" can be taken as indicating a transformative but often overlooked point in Faulkner's representations of lynching and racism in general.

"Pantaloon in Black" is often considered the "fringe story" (Lemke 58) of the largely McCaslin-focused Go Down, Moses. However, the implications that it has for the novel as a whole and as an indication of the author's changing approach to representing racial conflict are acutely dependent on its approach to representing the traumatic consequences of this conflict. Describing the failure of Faulkner scholarship to fully recognize the importance of the novel as a whole, Sassoubre writes that while "it is widely considered Faulkner's last great novel, there are few satisfactory readings of Go Down, Moses, and it is frequently described as lacking a unified thematic core" (186) despite the novel's focus on inheritance, land, and, most significantly, the interactions between black and white (and native) Southerners before and after Emancipation. Similar reasons may be put forward for why "Pantaloon in Black" itself has been treated so rarely in the existing studies of the novel. The overdetermined focus on racial purity and hysterical fear of miscegenation that make up the thematic concerns of the novel as a whole have been ignored in a chapter that focuses on a black mill worker who does not appear in any other section of the novel. However, as in the rest of Go Down, Moses, fear of racial mixing and miscegenation do in fact govern the action of "Pantaloon in Black"--the racial anxiety featured in the third chapter is a nonbiological but social interaction between working-class white and black citizens. Like the other chapters, "Pantaloon in Black" illuminates the dread of cross-racial relations that arose primarily after Emancipation. It also examines the implications produced by the foreclosure of these interactions and of the supremacist ideology that requires racial purity and segregation. However, the chapter's approach to these issues, both in terms of the narrative strategy and the focus on Rider rather than on the McCaslin-Edmonds-Beauchamp family, allows "Pantaloon in Black" to convey an understanding of racial segregation as having socially traumatic rather than simply personal consequences more directly than does the rest of the novel. The deputy who serves as the chapter's white commentator is depicted as inhabiting a liminal space between fellow laborer and representative of the law. However, his traumatic misunderstanding of Rider's death implies complications far beyond his own.

Many of the existing readings of "Pantaloon in Black" focus on the profound but misunderstood grief experienced by Rider after Mannie's death. His loss has been foregrounded repeatedly in the existing studies of Faulkner's third chapter at the expense of overshadowing the text's representation of wage labor as an equally devastating form of trauma. Not until Benjamin Ogden's article "Rethinking Rider's Love: the Less Romantic Logic of Property and Space in 'Pantaloon in Black'" has scholarship begun to account for the ways in which Rider's love is bound by his relation to labor. Building from Ogden's intervention in the critical work on "Pantaloon," which reads Rider's trauma as resulting from a collapsed fiction of property ownership, I argue that "Pantaloon" is neither a narrative about romantic loss nor Jim Crow labor oppression alone, but is instead a text that foregrounds the link between Rider's experience of personal grief, figured narratively as suffocation, and wider forms of racialized communal suffering. Importantly, it is not until Mannie dies that Rider is depicted as becoming fully aware of the limited opportunities for property ownership and the attendant security that is withheld from members of black society. By turning attention onto this anticipatory bodily event, Faulkner's text can be conceived of as providing access to a form of black interiority not commonly available in his earlier works.

Although the narrative concerning Rider's grief after Mannie's death does take up more physical space in "Pantaloon," Faulkner's text does not concentrate solely upon the individual black lives circumscribed and ended by practices of white supremacy. The text demonstrates as well the traumatic effects that this active erasure has on both the black community and on members of the white community who are offered no alternative to a violent racist script that depicts black life as bestial. For these descendants of white supremacy, black humanity is illegible. Rider's section in the text is mediated by the authoritative voice of the narrator, but the narration makes a radical change in section two with its foregrounding of the agitated language of the deputy as he attempts to communicate with his uninterested wife. The deputy, unable to trust the script he has been fed about the cause of Rider's crime and punishment, is depicted as traumatically recalling the events leading up to the lynching but finding insufficient proof to sustain the white supremacist understanding he had been brought up to follow. These two traumatic responses-Rider's experience of an abusive wage labor system and the deputy sheriff's misunderstanding of Rider's justified anger--are inherently connected, but brutally divided by the unrepresented act of violence that occurs between the two narrative sections.

Critics have often explored Faulkner's limited representations of black experience, especially extreme inner experiences, such as grief, loss, and death. (1) Philip Weinstein explains Faulkner's failure or refusal to articulate the material consequences of constructed racial difference by arguing that his various texts can only gesture at the traumas experienced by black characters: "he can be anguished over it, he can quote its dialect voice, but neither he as narrator nor his white delegates can speak it inwardly, subjectively, freshly. Nor can he envisage that those blacks who suffer under it might, through their own activities, escape its burden" (62). While I recognize the absence of alternatives to the black suffering present in Go Down, Moses, I would revisit the claim that Faulkner's texts are limited by the inability of white narrators and characters to speak about it, when that inability is often the point. In "Pantaloon in Black," the chapter's formal division of black experience and white understanding intentionally enacts the physical and psychic segregation of black and white American societies. The text specifically highlights the barriers to communication and understanding between the two communities, seen most markedly in lynching as a mechanism of white supremacy. I read "Pantaloon in Black" as treating the unrepresented lynching as purposefully unnarrated (Prince 2) rather than as unnarratable--and therefore as an act that orients the reader's focus around the life rather than death of the focalized character. Essentially, the absented murder of Rider may not be asking the reader to imagine and recreate his death so much as calling for the recognition of the effects this elision has on the deputy, as well as the effects that Rider's suffering in life might have on the reader--particularly as she witnesses the lack of understanding showcased by the deputy in section two. Through apprehension of Rider's bodily ordeals of asphyxiation, the reader is made privy to the truth of his lived experience as one of choked potential and of continual, drawn-out suffering. Reading both the ordeals of Rider's body and his unrepresented murder in this way allows the central structural silence of the text to be recognized as a barrier rather than as a meaningful absence that cannot be filled. The lynching, then, is construed not as an event that cannot be worded but as a constructed system of blockage epitomizing the engagement of Go Down, Moses with the material consequences of violent racial segregation.

Furthermore, rather than simply reinforcing the traumatic silencing of Rider's lived experience as the lynching does for the deputy, Faulkner's text illuminates the personal and interpersonal traumas sustained as a result of the segregation served by the lynching. Through an engagement with the narrative device of prolepsis, as well as analepsis, which recalls rather than anticipates an earlier event (Genette 40), "Pantaloon in Black" depicts the central act of unrepresented violence as an element of a trauma that begins before and extends beyond the actual temporal moment of the lynching. Though the reader may not witness the vicious murder directly, she feels its ripples in Rider's embodied grief and in the contradictory racial understandings demonstrated in the dialogue of the deputy sheriff. It is possible to read "Pantaloon In Black" as a narrative attempt to demonstrate the slow, everyday suffering of black laborers which, for Rider, is ended by the lynching and its service to the project of white supremacy.

Two particular readings have dominated the study of Rider's progression from Mannie's burial to the eventual lynching. The first and most common of these has treated Rider's killing of Birdsong as a purposeful act of suicide by which he will j oin his wife in death. Arthur Kinney has noted that after Mannie dies, "Rider devotes his life not only to grieving for her but to finding ways to rejoin her" (Faulkner's 236). His murder of Birdsong, then, becomes "a memorial to Mannie on his way to finding her in another life" (Faulkner's 237) rather than a conflicted and futile attempt at self-defense against a man who first threatened his livelihood and now threatens his life. The second, more recent tendency has been to read Mannie as having primarily symbolic relevance for Rider. Thus, when she dies, it is the loss of self-possession that grieves Rider more than the death of a loved one.

Kinney's suicidal reading locates a conscious purpose in Rider's actions that the text does not readily portray; looking at the ways in which the chapter inextricably links Rider's two forms of grief both to each other and to the lynching is more productive. Though Mannie's death does symbolize more than simply the loss of a loved one, it is particularly telling that the text represents Rider's experience of traumatic grief--both Mannie's physical loss and the loss of the illusion of patriarchal autonomy gained from marriage--in the same way: through asphyxiation. After Rider's death, the white deputy is unable to recognize the resistance embodied by Rider's actions, and so figures them as inhuman rather than as the symptoms of deep, irreparable grief.

When the reader first encounters Rider, he is grieving Mannie's recent death, with whom he had "rented [a] cabin from Carothers Edmonds" (GDM 104). There is an overt but fragile contrast between Rider's life before Mannie, "the old days when he had not actually needed the money, when a lot of what he wanted, needed perhaps, didn't cost money" (104) and their marriage, during which every Saturday "He would ... enter and ring the bright cascade of silver dollars onto the scrubbed table in the kitchen ... and Mannie would gather up the money ... and buy their next week's supplies and bank the rest" (104). Previously Rider paid no part of his wages for food or rent, and thus "there had only been the Saturday and Sunday dice and whiskey that had to be paid for until that day six months ago when he saw Mannie, whom he had known all his life, for the first time" (104). His labor, from which the reader is told "he made good money: sawmilling ever since he began to get his growth at fifteen and sixteen and now, at twenty-four, head of the timber gang itself" (104), previously paid for the weekend entertainment that sufficed to take Rider from week to week, briefly breaking up his mechanical labor. However, upon marrying Mannie, Rider conceives for the first time a means of entering into the economy of possession, by which self-worth is tied to who and what a man owns. Through buying into the patriarchal rhetoric that links self-mastery to marriage, reproduction, and landownership, Rider comes under the illusion that his labor will afford him access to a race-neutral plane of autonomous manhood.

Granted Rider's troubled relationship to a racist and inaccessible system of property-as-self-ownership, it is with the death of Mannie, and the illusory agency and domestic safety she symbolizes for Rider, that he recognizes his real position in the Southern economy of wage labor: he "put his hand on the gate it seemed to him suddenly that there was nothing beyond it. The house had never been his anyway" (105). However, what had once been a symbol of domestic safety for Rider, a removal from his old life of loveless gambling, becomes upon Mannie's death something not only empty but threatening. Passing through the gate, Rider enters "the dusk-filled single room where all those six months were now crammed and crowded into one instant of time until there was no space left for air to breathe" (105). As a marked sign of Rider's continued oppression by the descendants of the McCaslin family, the cabin cannot contain the contents of black domesticity that filled it when Mannie was alive. As a structure tied to oppression, it smothers the symbolic relevance of the marriage. However, rather than as a merely psychological feeling of grief, "Rider's sense of loss [is represented as] a tangible, bodily sensation" (Clough 401)--an experience of asphyxiation that the reader can only later associate with Rider's eventual hanging. The text's link between grief and the inability to breathe, then, produces an anticipatory sensation that to some extent fills in the experiential gap created by the unnarrated lynching.

As one of the forms of anachrony discussed in his chapter on narrative order, Genette coins the term prolepsis to describe "any narrative maneuver that consists of narrating or evoking in advance an event that will take place later" (40). While this form of narrative anticipation may simply gesture towards an event that will later be told in full, "completing prolepsis" describes advanced mentions and allusions "that fill in ahead of time a later blank" (71) in the text. But Rider's experience of grief as an inability to breathe, while an example of completing prolepsis, occurs in a particularly novel way in "Pantaloon in Black." It only covertly gestures at the unnarrated lynching, rather than directly stating the connection between the feeling of breathlessness and Rider's later death. As well, this moment of proleptic asphyxiation, coupled with its two subsequent repetitions in the text, provides the only representation of Rider's experience of the lynching itself that is afforded to the reader. Where this embodiment of grief occurs in the text and in the storyworld is particularly telling: first, related specifically to the recognitions revolving around Mannie's death (thus taking place in the cabin), but later extending beyond Rider's loss to full recognition of the lack of place afforded him in a white supremacist society. Furthermore, while the most frequent use of prolepsis in Western narrative has been to create suspense in leading up to a central moment of the text, Faulkner's reader is only able to recognize these moments as proleptic after the lynching has taken place--the reader, then, can only note the connection the text posits between the experience of grief and the experience of lynching once Rider has already been killed.

It is only in retrospect that the reader may anticipate the full meaning of Rider's grief. However, at the beginning of the text, with Mannie only recently gone, and with her, Rider's physical and psychic entry point into a position of ownership, the reader is already able to recognize that "Rider finds his prop, his source of self-identity and self-possession, snatched from him" (Clough 401). Mannie's death resonates doubly as a profound personal loss and as the collapse of Rider's illusory patriarchal power, through which he has been fooled into believing that he had been working all along to pay for his independence. Instead, the reader begins to recognize how Rider's physical activity harnessed in "[moving] a third again as much timber between sunup and sundown as any other moved" (GDM 104) is contributing only to the filling of white pockets--both those of the sawmill owner and of Roth Edmonds. Criticizing the lateral move from plantation slavery to practically indentured labor, "Faulkner imagines the Southern wage-labor market of the 1930s as not merely destructive for communities but literally fatal to individuals" (Sassoubre 195), whereas Matthews notes: "Slavery proper took a people for everything; the wage slavery that succeeded it merely robbed them blind" (25). Noting a parallel between Rider's impotent attempt to purchase self-identity and the eventual execution of Samuel "Butch" Worsham Beauchamp that occurs in "Go Down, Moses," Matthews states that "Being black under such economic regimes means being poor; to want more would always mean 'getting rich too fast'" (25).

While the first moment of proleptic asphyxiation in "Pantaloon in Black" demonstrates the ties between the collapse of Rider's domestic safety, his illusory independence, and the later lynching, his second experience of breathlessness occurs when he first returns to the mill. As in the first instance, the second space transmits the relevance of his grief to the reader. Where the first example displays the false safety of the rented cabin, this second indicates the abuse of Rider's physical labor as a cause of similar grief. Having arrived at the mill earlier than any other worker but the black fireman, Rider is suddenly seized by the need to eat. The fireman offers his lunch pail, out of which Rider crams "the food into his mouth with his hands, wolfing it ... indiscriminate, tasteless" (108). The process of Rider's eating, much like the exaggerated moving of timber he engages in before leaving the mill for the first time this day, is portrayed as mechanical, a physical necessity rather than a desire. The food, coming from the fireman whose labor consists of repeatedly refueling machinery, equates a similar physical refueling for Rider. His body, like the mill, is prepared to be used only as another form of machine for the production of white income. When he finishes the food from the pail,
   He did not look up, setting the empty pail aside, rising, looking
   at no one, and went to the branch and lay on his stomach and
   lowered his face to the water, drawing the water into himself with
   the same deep, strong, troubled inhalations that he had snored
   with, or as when he had stood in the empty house at dusk yesterday,
   trying to get air. (108)


Drinking, a process of intake similar to that engaged by breathing, depicts here an overt connection to the lynching, after which Rider will no longer be able to "get air" (108) into his lungs. Watching from the third-person vantage point allotted by the narrator, the reader witnesses the means through which labor, particularly the mechanized labor that continues to enslave the black body, is directly implicated in the grief that traumatizes Rider. However, his realm of existence as a poor black worker serving the unseen forces of white management affords him no direct access to the system for which his body is used. Rider, unable to strike out against the owners of the mill, is forced instead to grapple with the white working class, who, although similarly unable to ever work their way to a deserved prosperity, share the same white supremacist ideologies that control both the mill and the rented cabin and are even exacerbated by job competition.

The eventual duel between Rider and Birdsong is prefigured in "Pantaloon" first by an encounter with a white whiskey runner from whom Rider attempts to buy a gallon of liquor. On approaching the man's illegal operation, Rider extends his hand "with four silver dollars on the palm. 'Ah wants a jug,' he said" (110). Despite the tenuous position his status as a criminal affords him in white society, the runner answers: "A jug? ... You mean a pint. This is Monday. Aint you all running this week?" (110). This line of questioning invokes an implied understanding that Rider's life as a black laborer is circumscribed by the responsibility he owes to the mill and the making of money for his white employers. The refusal to sell what Rider conceives of as having worked for, paid for, becomes tied up in his understanding of the autonomy afforded black citizens. Striking the white man across the chest, Rider says "Look out, white folks.... Hit's mine. Ah done paid you" (111), refusing to differentiate this particular whiskey runner from the system of white oppression in which he is involved.

It is directly after this encounter that the text presents the third and final moment of prolepsis anticipating Rider's hanging. Leaving the forest with his gallon of whiskey, he "moved rapidly on between the close walls of impenetrable cane-stalks which gave a sort of blondness to the twilight and possessed something of that oppression, that lack of room to breathe in, which the walls of his house had had" (111). As with the second instance of prolepsis, the narrator directly relates Rider's experience in the cane field to the grief he felt on losing Mannie. Like the cabin and the mill, the cane field, overtly connected to the practices of plantation slavery described in the earlier chapters of Go Down, Moses, creates a feeling of oppression that constricts Rider's ability to breathe--his ability, ultimately, to live as an independent, unindentured black man. The connections posited between the collapse of the domestic sphere, the mechanization of black bodies for white profit, and the ultimate inability of a black citizen to wield purchasing power, to buy even something as small as a gallon of whiskey, are exemplified through the proleptic asphyxiation that plagues Rider from the burial of Mannie to the fatal encounter with Birdsong. It is then only shortly after Rider leaves the white whiskey runner that he returns to the mill for the final time.

Despite his lowly economic and social position, Birdsong--the "white night-watchman" (115)--is tied specifically to white supremacy and the same system of labor that keeps Rider from ever owning his own property, and thus his right to self-identity. Paralleling his encounter with the whiskey runner, the watchman first attempts to exclude Rider's participation in the fixed dice game, calling him "drunk" (115) and ordering him to "Get out of here" (115). When Rider is finally allowed to participate, he watches "the dice pass from hand to hand around the circle as the white man covered the bets, watching the soiled and palm-worn money in front of the white man gradually and steadily increase" (115). Here, laid out in miniature, is the entire system of racial oppression by which black labor is translated directly into white capital. Linking the dice game directly to the mill's abuse of black labor, Thadious Davis writes that
   [t]he hierarchy of power in the relations between the black workers
   and the white foreman remains intact in the dice game.... Here the
   power relations also reflect the imbalance in the economic order.
   Exploited in their labor and victimized in their entertainment, the
   black workers acceded to the hierarchy of power. (72-73)


The reader, interpreting through Rider's perspective, begins, as John Limon notes, to see black "life blasphemously as a crap game with loaded dice" (428). Although allowed to participate in the (rigged) game of chance, Rider and his fellow black laborers are unable to participate in the game of masculine self-determination. What the reader recognizes in the night-watchman, as in the whiskey runner and the system as a whole, is the undeniable ability of white men to decide the fate of black men in an economy that allows only for their continued enslavement. As Ogden notes,
   Instead of God, there is only the white man, who orders the world
   as he pleases.... Seen in this light, Rider's seeking out of the
   dice game makes sense.... To win or to lose at dice in a fair game
   would be to confirm an entirely secular ontology: whites and blacks
   are subject to the laws of chance and probability equally. However
   ... this game of chance is rigged by "white folks," just as every
   other part of the universe is rigged by white folks. (394)


The night-watchman's position as the head of the dice game depicts for the reader a funneling of black labor into white personal gain, and in this sense, registers as well white society's omnipotence over black society. However, it is not "until the white man's hand sprang open and the second pair of dice clattered onto the floor beside the first two and the white man wrenched free ... and reached the hand backward toward the pocket where the pistol was" (115-16) that Rider is presented with an access to self-fulfillment that is not immediately circumscribed by the white man-as-God.

While a frequent reading of the killing of Birdsong in "Pantaloon in Black" construes it as an "inarticulate protest against an economic regime stacked against black labor" (Sassoubre 195), scholars such as Clough have read it as an act of autonomy. Relying on the cultural assumption that the killing of a white man by a black man would result without question in lynching, Clough argues that by "making the potential lynching an effect of self-determined action, a defense of personal and domestic rights ... Rider cease[s] to be passive" (404). My reading of Rider's act of murder falls between these two poles--not necessarily inclined to view his use of the razor blade as suicidal, nor interested in suggesting that the ultimate fact of Rider's lynching serves to demonstrate his full autonomy. In my reading, it is important that Rider does not go to the dice game with the overt intention of killing Birdsong. Rather, it is the white night-watchman who initiates the violence once his cheating is revealed: he reaches for his pistol, and Rider responds by drawing his razor. Yet, in this symbolic duel, even though he has the vastly more powerful weapon, the white man's position of racial superiority is challenged. The brief fight between Rider and Birdsong is the only instance in the text in which Rider's ability to succeed is not immediately circumscribed by his black skin or the mechanization of his body for white gain. While the cultural promise of lynching does circumscribe his actions after the duel is over, in the moment of Rider's reaction to the drawn pistol, Faulkner depicts a form of physical mastery that is uncontained by white structural power. There is active, unmechanized, personal grace in the way
   The same motion of the hand which brought the razor forward over
   his shoulder flipped the blade open and freed it from the cord, the
   blade opening on until the back edge of it lay across the knuckles
   of his fist ... so that in the second before the half-drawn pistol
   exploded he actually struck at the white man's throat not with the
   blade but with a sweeping blow of his fist, following through in
   the same motion so that not even the first jet of blood touched his
   hand or arm. (116)


Here, Rider's physical mastery of both the razor and his body exceeds the ability to control a fate that Birdsong assumes accompanies the superior power of the pistol. Birdsong's death, which is essentially an act of justified self-defense rather than murder, occurs here precisely because Rider is the more agile, more physically powerful of the pair. Through the medium of Rider's artistry with the razor, Faulkner shows that there are some unequal contests that white structural privilege cannot win. It is in this sense particularly relevant that the lynching, in keeping with the historical pattern of private lynching, happens out of sight of both the white and black communities. By hiding the death from both white society and the reader, Faulkner's unnarrated lynching dramatizes the historical practice of private lynchings that served to quell the fear that black autonomy might successfully contest white supremacy.

Eliding Rider's death is here akin to the cultural hiding of the crime--or rather, the true motive behind the crime. In contrast, by hiding the act of lynching from black society, leaving only a dead body unable to speak its significant meaning, the lynching functions "as a tool of domination meant to coerce ... black people, depriving them of the political, economic, social, and cultural opportunities promised by emancipation" (Goldsby 18). While the bodies that resulted from these historical private lynchings were frequently left for black communities as messages, as with Rider's body found "hanging from the bell-rope in a negro schoolhouse about two miles from the sawmill" (GDM 116), the removal of the death from the center of towns and communities was as much an integral part of the private lynching ritual as the treatment of the victim. Black society, prevented from witnessing the violence, was forced to imagine repeatedly the lynching that could, at any time, descend on them. White society, in contrast, was blocked from the meaning of black actions. Forced to take a neutral position through both the extended witnessing of Rider's grief, and the later witnessing of the deputy's subsequent traumatic response, Faulkner's reader is enabled not only to grasp the destructive system of white supremacy that Rider ultimately cannot defeat, but also the purposive erasure of his resistance from the cultural script invoked by the deputy.

The division of "Pantaloon in Black" into the two sections surrounding Rider's unnarrated lynching is not structurally symmetrical, either in terms of the textual space recounting each part of the story or in terms of the narrative approach taken. As mentioned, Faulkner devotes more space in the chapter to depicting the traumatic collapse of Rider's illusory self-possession, just as more of the narrator's authoritative voice is found in the earlier of the two sections. It is in the text's first section that the links between Rider's murder of Birdsong and the physical re-enslavement of black bodies by an unjust wage-labor system are posited. However, Rider's story makes up only part of the critique deployed by "Pantaloon in Black." It is particularly through the second section of the text that the traumatic consequences of the lynching on working-class white society are investigated. Involved as he is in both Rider's initial jailing after the murder of Birdsong and the aftermath of Rider's death, the white deputy sheriff who focalizes the second section cannot understand the meaning of the events he has heard about. More so than Faulkner's reader, who has already reckoned with Rider's grief, the deputy is doubly elided: both from the lynching itself, but also from the social circumstances that it signifies. Where the longer first section provides the reader with what Arthur Kinney has called an illustration of Rider's "miniature biographical consciousness" (Faulkner's 235), the grief and trauma made legible through the narrator's mediation become unreadable in the deputy sheriff's section.

Between these two focalizing characters--the black and the white--stands the unnarrated lynching that serves as an enactment of the psychic barrier constructed between Rider and the white deputy. This structural division replicates the segregationist politics entailed by private lynchings that sought not only to erase the threat of black resistance, but purposefully to rescript it for circulation in white society. However, as Faulkner demonstrates, this division is itself imperfect. What happens in the gap between the two sections cannot be fully contained in the pregnant ellipsis, but rather seeps into the mediated narrative through which the reader encounters the story. Where the earlier presence of anticipatory prolepsis conveys connections between Rider's grief and the eventual lynching in section one, section two demonstrates the communal rescripting of Rider's death through the retrospective anachrony Genette terms "analepsis": an "evocation after the fact of an event that took place earlier than the point in the story where we are at any given moment" (40). The extended feeling of asphyxiation that proliferated in section one is reduced and contained by a brief passage that retrospectively sums up the lynching--or rather, sums up what the deputy is allowed to know of the lynching. In this section, the monumental act of Rider's lynching is recast as banal and as already neatly screened from the community. However, while this single paragraph, the only example of the narrator's voice in section two, expresses a belief that the events of the lynching have been wrapped up, a distinct discordance remains between the analeptic passage and the deputy's dialogue that makes up the rest of the chapter.

Despite his mouthing of racist discourse, the deputy cannot seem to fully believe the white supremacist script that justifies Rider's murder. Thus, although the text indicates that the lynching has taken place in the central textual gap, that event seeps into the surface of the text first in the explored bodily event, and subsequently through the presence of analepsis in the paragraph beginning the deputy's second section:
   After it was over--it didn't take long; they found the prisoner on
   the following day, hanging from the bell-rope in a negro
   schoolhouse about two miles from the sawmill, and the coroner had
   pronounced his verdict of death at the hands of a person or persons
   unknown and surrendered the body to its next of kin all within five
   minutes--the sheriff's deputy who had been officially in charge of
   the business was telling his wife about it.... His wife was cooking
   supper. The deputy had been out of bed and in motion ever since the
   jail delivery shortly before midnight of yesterday and had covered
   considerable ground since, and he was spent now from lack of sleep
   and hurried food at hurried and curious hours and, sitting in a
   chair beside the stove, a little hysterical too. (116; emphasis
   mine)


Buried in this extended paragraph, the analeptic recall of Rider's lynching takes place between the section's two em dashes. Here, the ambiguous pronoun "it" neatly suspends the monumental act of racist violence, delaying the reader's recognition until later in the sentence. All that Faulkner's reader knows about the lynching itself--essentially that it happened--is presented in this passage. The reader knows that the body of "the prisoner" (116) was found "hanging from the bell-rope in a negro schoolhouse" and that the coroner has both pronounced a "verdict of death at the hands of a person or persons unknown" and "surrendered the body to its next of kin all within five minutes." As well, the reader knows that "the sheriff's deputy who had been officially in charge of the business" (emphasis mine) now sits safely in the private domestic space of his kitchen. The tense used in this last section demonstrates that "the business," not of relevance enough for the sheriff himself to attend to, is now over. Having presided over the situation, which is distinctly not referred to as a crime, the deputy is now able to relax and reflect safely on the affairs of the last twenty-four hours. The reader has not, however, been presented with an understanding of how the jailbreak took place, who was involved in the actual lynching, and how precisely Rider went from a living man to a "body." For the purposes of this narrative passage, these pieces of information are irrelevant. The lynching itself has "close[d] the case" (118) of the Birdsong murder, and through the cooperation of legal and extralegal means, order has been restored to the community. Conversely, the reader knows an enormous amount of material that the deputy is unaware of: Rider's name, his actions, and the feelings of grief that work to explain them.

In this single paragraph of narrative that follows the lynching, the disruption Rider has caused to the communal order has been rectified. Most importantly, however, the figure of Rider as masterfully in charge of the razor blade has been erased from the narrative, and so from the community. What replaces this figure instead is a constructed being who "look[s] like a man and ... walk[s] on [his] hind legs like a man" but who, in the minds of the white community, "might just as well be a damn ... wild [buffalo]" (116-17). Excised from the text as a way to dramatize lynching's active erasure of black life and autonomous action, Rider's act is now rewritten to justify his destruction.

If Genette defines completing analepsis as "retrospective selections that fill in, after the event, an earlier gap in the narrative" (51), it is notable that the instance occurring between the two em dashes is itself incomplete, in terms of the level of detail the reader received in other parts of the story. The portion of the narrative that gestures toward the occurrence of the lynching does not fully convey an understanding of how it happened, who was there, how long it took. Rather the analepsis that takes place between the two em dashes provides more of a carefully constructed summary of the lynching than a detailed recollection. A shift from considerations of the ordering of narrative in this passage to the duration of the story time conveyed between the em dashes can better explain the compression and containment enacted by the recall of the lynching. As one of the four classical narrative tempos, summary is the only one to have a variable rather than fixed tempo. Where the ellipsis itself depicts infinite speed, the speed of summary changes based on how the narration relays the story (Genette 94). Rather than closely detailing, and thus slowing the narrative speed through which Rider's lynching is portrayed, the passage of analepsis in "Pantaloon in Black" condenses the time, and thus the value or importance, of Rider's death into a single sentence--and shows that it is doing so.

The passage is itself an active narration rather than an obvious narrative gap, but it is relayed as "an instance of narrative summary so extreme in its compression that it approaches absolute ellipsis" (Bell 90). Where Faulkner's use of prolepsis in the first section helps to widen the reader's understanding of the events of the unnarrated lynching, the analepsis that occurs in the second section effectively suppresses them as a means of inhabiting the perspective afforded the white deputy. Seen in this light, the interplay between the omission of Rider's lynching from the narration of the text and the immediate active summary of it suggests that the lynching itself is not unrepresentable but purposefully unrepresented. Thus, while "Pantaloon" employs what WagnerMartin calls silences "as poignant as dialogue" (15), it also importantly deploys narrative and dialogue as poignant as silence. It is the particular silence created by "Pantaloon"'s analeptic summary that the deputy cannot bear.

Critical responses to the deputy's section of "Pantaloon in Black" have provided varied understandings of his role in the text, and of his view of Rider. For Clough, the text's second section offers a "negative framing of white domesticity" (397) against which the symbiotic relationships of Mannie and Rider are presented as warm and nurturing. Thus, for Clough, the deputy "finds Rider's actions irrational and meaningless" (402) because "he himself lives in a home with a warmthless hearth and a warmthless wife of 'choleric' disposition, and this domestic distance translates accordingly into interpretive distance" (402). Taking another approach, Carl J. Dimitri, Benjamin H. Ogden, Hoke Perkins, and Noel Polk read the deputy's dialogue for what it indicates about his relation to Rider and the white supremacist politics that his lynching serves. In Children of the Dark House, Polk notes that a major critical misreading of "Pantaloon" occurs because of critics' "inability to see the deputy-narrator of the second part of that story as anything but a stereotypical Southern lawman" (239). Agreeing with this misunderstanding of the deputy, for Ogden, the final scene of "Pantaloon" bears witness "to a white man trying to talk himself through a series of events that undercut his most basic presuppositions about blacks.... He is struggling to make room for Rider's actions in the logic of his racist ideology" (Ogden 388). Disagreeing with the critics earlier discussed by Polk, who have tended to read the deputy as fully participating in his community's white supremacist rhetoric, Perkins argues not only that the deputy is redeemable, but that
   he seems to seek the source of Rider's violent nature.... he is in
   a state of near empathy. His story is told obsessively.... His
   language is that of the ignorant Southern racist; his story is that
   of a man disturbed to his soul by a mystery he cannot understand.
   (232)


Lastly, Dimitri understands the final scene as Faulkner's indication that "black people suffer from a very literal oppression, one both physical and material, while, as a consequence, the white (or the conscientious one) is jailed by his own guilt, shame, and spiritual unease" (Dimitri 19).

My own reading of the final scene in "Pantaloon in Black" is indebted to these earlier studies in their contention that the deputy's dialogue illustrates what might be considered his "spiritual unease." I would argue, however, that labeling his intentions as nearing empathy, or as engaged in any particularly clear directive, misreads the interaction between the narrator's and the deputy's voices that make up the second section. Deciding whether the deputy begins to feel compassion is not ascertainable in "Pantaloon in Black" given that the reader is specifically not afforded the same access to the deputy's interiority that we are to Rider's, albeit through the voice of the third person narrator. The reader is not privy to the mediated thoughts of the deputy as the narrative's second focalizer, and thus how or what he feels towards Rider must always be inferred. What does become possible through the text's surface is an analysis of the deputy's dialogue as indicating a deep, insurmountable trauma related specifically to the silences indicated in the earlier passage of summary. Whether he feels particular empathy for Rider is unclear, but that he feels is not.

Throughout the deputy's dialogue, all traces of Rider as an autonomous and deliberate agent have been removed and replaced with a rhetoric of animality that shows Rider as inhuman. Although privy to the fact that Rider had "been peacefully losing a probably steady average ninety-nine percent of his pay [to Birdsong] ever since he got big enough to read the spots on them miss-out dice" (GDM 118), the deputy's recounting of the events that prefigured the lynching denies a human rationale behind Rider's action. Reflecting on the past twenty-four hours, the deputy exclaims: "Them damn niggers ... I swear to godfrey, it's a wonder we have as little trouble with them as we do. Because why? Because they aint human" (116). The original meanings inherent in Rider's killing of Birdsong are replaced with a culturally constructed text of "black man as animal," by which the deputy is supposed to conceive of black people as being incapable of "the normal human feelings and sentiments of human beings" (116). Rider's grief over Mannie is figured in the dialogue as a "rushing [of] his wife into the ground" (117) in the same way that his seeming resignation toward death when, after the cutting of Birdsong's throat he is found with "a big pot of field pease et clean empty on the stove, and him laying in the back yard asleep" (118) is read as madness.

Although the regurgitated rhetoric of black inhumanity is clearly present in the deputy's dialogue, his recounting of the events surrounding the lynching includes several cues that for Joshua Pederson indicate the experience of trauma. Pederson notes that, in more thoroughly analyzing both fictional and non-fictional narratives of trauma, critics should parse texts for "evidence of augmented narrative detail" (339) and also "depictions of experiences that are temporally, physically, or ontologically distorted" (339). Attention to these cues in the text will, according to Pederson, clarify that traumatic memories are most frequently represented neither as "elusive or absent; they are potentially more detailed and more powerful than normal ones.... Indeed, we may need more words--not fewer--to accurately represent its effects in text" (339).

As with the narratives analyzed by Pederson, the deputy's dialogue indicates various moments of precise detail, as well as ontological distortion, in his recounting of the events that preempt the lynching. Having first given his valuation of Birdsong's murder through the dialogue presented earlier, the deputy recounts his understanding of the last twenty-four hours. He notes that after Mannie's burial, Rider was
   the first man back at work except the fireman, getting back to the
   mill before the fireman had his fire going, let alone steam up....
   The first man there, jumping from one log truck to another before
   the starting whistle quit blowing even, snatching up ten-foot
   cypress logs by himself and throwing them around like matches....
   he walks off the job in the middle of the afternoon ... gets
   himself a whole gallon of bust-skull white-mule whiskey, comes
   straight back to the mill ... goes straight to the same game where
   he has been peacefully losing a probably steady average ninety-nine
   percent of his pay ever since he got big enough to read the spots
   on them miss-out dice, and cuts Birdsong's throat clean to the
   neckbone five minutes later. (117-18)


The text does not clearly explain how the deputy comes to have all of this information, given that he himself was not yet present for any of these events. However, the precise focus on the linear unfolding of the events, the time of arrivals and departures, and the detailed representation of Rider's actions reflect Pederson's understanding of traumatic memories as augmented in detail. Something brings the deputy to focus strongly on Rider's story, even the parts that are not experienced by himself directly. In recounting the story, he retells many of the events of Rider's day, including the purchase of the whiskey that takes place out of the sight of other characters. Furthermore, his recounting of Rider's throwing around "ten-foot cypress logs ... like matches" (118) indicates an ontological or physical distortion that presents Rider as having tremendous strength. There is, however, no indication that this hyperbolic strength is tied to the deputy's earlier description of black men as animalistic. Rather, Rider is presented here as nearly superhuman.

Upon the deputy's actual encounter of Rider, the recounted story becomes not only hyper-detailed, but also begins to incorporate the sound of Rider's speech. Describing Rider's initial arrest, the deputy notes that
   it's just by the merest chance that we go by his house; I dont even
   remember why we went now, but we did; and there he is. Sitting
   behind the barred front door with a open razor on one knee and a
   loaded shotgun on the other? No. He was asleep. A big pot of field
   pease et clean empty on the stove, and him laying in the back yard
   asleep in the broad sun with just his head under the edge of the
   porch in the shade and a dog that looked like a cross between a
   bear and a Polled Angus steer yelling fire and murder from the back
   door. And we wake him and he sets up and says, 'Awright, white
   folks. Ah done it. Jest don't lock me up,' and Maydew says, 'Mr
   Birdsong's kinfolks aint going to lock you up neither. You'll have
   plenty of fresh air when they get hold of you,' and he says, Ah
   done it. Jest don't lock me up.' (118-19)


The deputy here recounts both how he expected to find Rider and how his actual location baffles that expectation. The attention to the empty pot on the stove, the position of Rider's head in the shade, and the comically hyperbolic description of the dog demonstrate the level of detail imprinted on the deputy's memory. Furthermore, he recalls in direct quotation Rider's request not to be locked up, and also his metonymic understanding of the police as representing all "white folks" (119). While earlier in the dialogue Rider was denied humanity, the deputy here gives him a voice and invokes it through Rider's own dialect. This depicts the deputy's intention not only to recall the scene, but also to recall Rider himself, presenting a discordance between his earlier racist rhetoric and the relating of his traumatic memory. He needs, for whatever unarticulated reason, to know the "one who was called Rider and was Rider" (115). Parallels between the deputy's story and the mediated narration of the first section indicate the precise nature of the retelling--the Rider that figured earlier in "Pantaloon" very much resembles the Rider of the deputy's later dialogue.

The deputy's final memory that ends "Pantaloon in Black," the description of Rider's attempt to escape the jail cell as a means of acquiring fresh air--a prefiguration of Rider's ultimate loss of air through the lynching--demonstrates again a heightened attention to detail, a hyperbolic distortion of the event, and a representation of Rider's voice. However, for the first time, it also demonstrates a recognition of Rider's emotional state, embodied through the representation of his tears and his alleged need for fresh air. The deputy recalls one of the white guardsmen demanding that Rider's fellow black prisoners detain him. Then,
   for a full minute that nigger would grab them as they come in and
   fling them clean across the room like they was rag dolls, saying,
   'Ah aint tryin to git out. Ah aint tryin to git out,' until at last
   they pulled him down--a big mass of nigger heads and arms and legs
   boiling around on the floor ... at last they had him down and
   Ketcham went in and begun peeling away niggers until he could see
   him laying there under the pile of them, laughing, with tears big
   as glass marbles running across his face and down past his ears and
   making a kind of popping sound on the floor like somebody dropping
   bird eggs, laughing and laughing and saying, 'Hit look lack Ah just
   cant quit thinking. Look lack Ah just cant quit.' And what do you
   think of that? (120)


In this final passage, the cultural function of the lynching to segregate Rider's story from the understanding of the deputy has been demonstrated as failing. Rider's undeniable humanity proliferates the deputy's discourse, demonstrating not necessarily a full understanding of what has caused Rider's grief, but at least an understanding that there is something causing it--something that the deputy cannot, for whatever reason, grasp. Regarding the inscription of Rider's voice in the deputy's final passage of dialogue, Gwin notes that "The trauma of race in ['Pantaloon in Black'] becomes a project of address that emanates from various sites, sometimes unlikely ones.... Rider's ... voice often seems to wander through and speak from various sites of wounding" (Gwin 29). These prolific sites of wounding, each linked in a variety of ways to the unnarrated lynching, are not contained by the text's central ellipsis. Rather, they spill out, contaminating both sections of "Pantaloon in Black" and linking the deceased black mill worker to the white deputy sheriff whose call in his final words--"And what do you think of that?" (120)--displays a need for understanding that is inaccessible. While neither we nor the deputy are capable of witnessing the central trauma of the lynching that ends Rider's life, what we do witness is the uncontainable truth of the resistance Rider represents to the reader, and the unassailable presence he maintains in the deputy's psyche, which itself cannot be contained by the analeptic summary conveyed by the narrator. Where the passage of analepsis offers an understanding of the events surrounding Rider's death as neatly finished, the deputy's voice, prevailing over that of the narrator's in "Pantaloon's" second section, gives the lie to the communal script presented by the narrator. As Kinney argues, the deputy's "obsession ... with what Rider stands for, with his secret bond with Rider ... is what drives the narrative and the dialogue" ("Unscrambling" 26). Maybe, given the Jim Crow climate in which the deputy lives, he is supposed to take these events as banal, to forget about them after their completion. His dialogue, however, indicates that this is not possible. He may not be able to fully recognize a human connection between himself and the dead black mill worker, but he cannot put the story to rest. Traumatized by an all-consuming incomprehension, the deputy cannot submit to his wife's callous demand that he "Take [Rider] out of my kitchen, anyway" (117).

Although, as noted by Sassoubre, "Pantaloon" has been described as the least-related of the chapters that make up Go Down, Moses, it distinctly asserts its importance as a descendent text, redressing the conflicts presented in "The Fire and the Hearth" It is ultimately important to the novel that Rider is shaped not only by the circumstances that produced Lucas Beauchamp, but by those of Carothers Edmonds as well. Apart from its overt relation to "The Fire and the Hearth," both sections of "Pantaloon" are independently in conversation with the title chapter of the novel. The questions regarding the unnarrated mob violence central to "Pantaloon" anticipate the similarly unrepresented legal execution of Samuel "Butch" Worsham Beauchamp that ends "Go Down, Moses" Rider's section, then, appears to be not so much an aberration as an integral chapter, suturing together the earlier discussions of "property as identity" (Ogden 381) that proliferate in "The Fire and the Hearth" and the consequences of a black man's "Getting rich too fast" (GDM 270) that lead to Butch's execution. Furthermore, as Polk asserts, Faulkner seems to have set the uneducated Southern deputy in "sharp opposition" (240) to the more worldly white lawyer, Gavin Stevens of "Go Down, Moses" As both characters are direct witnesses to the human emotion of grief "where they least expect it, in a Negro", "[b]oth have equal opportunities to test the cultural narrative about race against their actual experiences of racial otherness" (240). While neither character manages to rescript this narrative, it is clear that the deputy of "Pantaloon," and not Stevens, is "shattered by this revelation" (240).

As the third chapter demarcating an ethical shift in Faulkner's aesthetic project (Dimitri 12), "Pantaloon in Black" demands a reconstituted study of racial trauma in literature. While the central act of violence that divides the chapter's two sections is itself unrepresented in the narrative level of discourse, what the reader is given in the surface of "Pantaloon" testifies to the bodily resonances of trauma and its attendant grief--both the traumas oriented around the unseen lynching and the traumatic experiences of racial segregation that the lynching sustains. Through the anachronic narrative ordering produced by the practice of prolepsis and analepsis, the reader is brought to witness the racist communal rescripting of black resistance that justifies its destruction. Subsequently, it is through the extended dialogue of the white deputy sheriff, which "wrests the story from the objective narrator" (Perkins 232), that the reader may also witness the traumatic results of the lynching's production of silence in both black and white communities.

McGill University

Works Cited

Bell, Millicent. "Narrative Gaps/Narrative Meaning." Raritan, vol. 6, no. 1, Summer 1986, pp. 84-102.

Clough, Edward. "Violence and the Hearth: Lynching and Resistance in Go Down, Moses" Mississippi Quarterly, vol. 65, no. 3, Summer 2012, pp. 391-412.

Davis, Thadious M. Games of Property: Law, Race, Gender, And Faulkner's Go Down, Moses. Duke UP, 2003.

Dimitri, Carl J. "Go Down, Moses and Intruder in the Dust: From Negative to Positive Liberty." The Faulkner Journal, vol. 19, no. 1, Fall 2003, pp. 11-26.

Faulkner, William. "Dry September." Scribner's Magazine, vol. 89, no. 1, Jan. 1931, pp. 49-56.

--. Go Down, Moses. 1942. William Faulkner Novels: 1942-1954. Library of America, 1994, pp. 1-281.

--. Light in August. 1932. William Faulkner Novels: 1930-1935. Library of America, 1985, pp. 399-774.

--. Sanctuary. 1931. William Faulkner Novels: 1930-1935. Library of America, 1985, pp. 179398.

Forter, Greg. "Freud, Faulkner, Caruth: Trauma and the Politics of Literary Form." Narrative, vol. 15, no. 3, Oct. 2007, pp. 259-85.

Genette, Gerard. Narrative Discourse Revisited. 1983. Translated by Jane E. Lewin, Cornell UP, 1988.

Goldsby, Jacqueline. A Spectacular Secret: Lynching in American Life and Literature. U of Chicago P, 2006.

Gwin, Minrose C. "Racial Wounding and the Aesthetics of the Middle Voice in Absalom, Absalom! and Go Down, Moses." The Faulkner Journal, vol. 20, no. 1 & 2, Fall 2004/Spring 2005, pp. 21-33.

Kinney, Arthur F. Faulkner's Narrative Poetics: Style As Vision. U of Massachusetts P, 1978.

--. "Unscrambling Surprises." Connotations: A Journal for Critical Debate, vol. 15, no. 1-3, 2005/2006, pp. 17-29.

Lempke, Celeste. "Faulkner's 'Pantaloon in Black': The Necessity of the Fringe Story." The Sigma Tau Delta Review, vol. 9, 2012, pp. 55-63.

Limon, John. "The Integration of Faulkner's Go Down, Moses" Critical Inquiry, vol. 12, no. 2, Winter 1986, pp. 422-38.

Matthews, John T. "Touching Race in Go Down, Moses" Wagner-Martin, pp. 21-47.

Minter, David. Faulkner's Questioning Narratives: Fiction of His Major Phase, 1929-42. U of Illinois P, 2001.

Ogden, Benjamin H. "Rethinking Rider's Love: the Less Romantic Logic of Property and Space in 'Pantaloon in Black.'" Mississippi Quarterly, vol. 61, no. 3, Summer 2008, pp. 379-96. EBSCO, connection.ebscohost.com/c/literary-criticism/43183780/rethinking-riders-loveless-romantic-logic-property-space-in-pantaloon-black.

Pederson, Joshua. "Speak, Trauma: Toward a Revised Understanding of Literary Trauma Theory" Narrative, vol. 22, no. 3, Oct. 2014, pp. 333-53.

Perkins, Hoke. "'Ah Just Cant Quit Thinking': Faulkner's Black Razor Murderers." Faulkner and Race: Faulkner and Yoknapatawpha, 1986, edited by Doreen Fowler and Ann J. Abadie, UP of Mississippi, 1987, pp. 222-35.

Polk, Noel. Children of the Dark House: Text and Context in Faulkner. UP of Mississippi, 1998.

Prince, Gerald. "The Disnarrated." Style, vol. 22, no. 1, Spring 1988, pp. 1-8.

Sassoubre, Ticien Marie. "Avoiding Adjudication in William Faulkner's Go Down, Moses and Intruder in the Dust" Criticism, vol. 49, no. 2, Spring 2007, pp. 183-214.

Sundquist, Eric J. Faulkner: The House Divided. Johns Hopkins UP, 1985.

Wagner-Martin, Linda, editor. New Essays on Go Down, Moses. Cambridge UP, 1996.

--."Introduction." Wagner-Martin, pp. 1-20.

Weinstein, Philip M. Faulkner's Subject: A Cosmos No One Owns. Cambridge UP, 2008.

(1) Eric Sundquist (1985), John T. Matthews (1996), David Minter (2001), Greg Forter (2007), and Ogden (2008) are just a few examples of critical works attending to the representation of inner black life in Faulkner's works.
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