The Sound and the Fury

Part of what complicates the reading of The Sound and the Fury is the dizzying proliferation of character names throughout the book: There are two Jasons, Father and son; there are two Quentins, brother and niece/daughter; there is Benjy who once was called Maury; and there are nicknames scattered throughout. Benjy, of course, is shorthand for Benjamin; not so obviously, Caddy is the condensed form of Candace. There is also, notably, the Bascomb family name—Mrs. Compson’s maiden name, which she so fiercely protects—versus the Compson family name with its indelible curse.

The reverberation of all these names coursing down through the generations seems to imply that the fates of these characters are irrevocably bound together. However, ironically, this is not always the case, particularly with regard to the characters who have inherited exact replicas of family names. As Shakespeare famously answered the question in the above title, “That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet” (Romeo and Juliet, II.2.43-44). That is, the rose would still be a rose even if it be called a carnation; in this context, renaming Maury “Benjy” does not render his disability any less tangible. Thus, names can be seen as mere conventions, an arrangement of letters that does not necessarily refer to an immutable reality. Still, names are also identities, and as such their significance resonates.

For an example of the destiny-defying inheritance of a name, one need look no further than Jason Compson, who, by all accounts, bears little resemblance to the arch and compassionate Father for whom he is named. As Mother continually reminds him, “only Jason can do no wrong because he is more Bascomb than Compson” (118). She claims Jason for herself and for her own inheritance; she hopes that “he may escape this [Compson] curse” (119). This desire becomes destiny, as Jason turns out to be very much like Mother and her brother Maury Bascomb: He feels persecuted at every turn, just like his mother; he is self-righteous and self-pitying; and he is a liar and a thief, much like Maury. Uncle Maury lives off of the dwindling Compson family money through the present day; he writes to let Jason know that he will be “drawing upon your Mother’s bank for the small sum necessary to complement my own initial investment” (257). He “borrows” money he never intends to pay back for unproven schemes. Jason’s father was well aware of what kind of man Uncle Maury is, mordantly commenting on Maury’s worth: “’I admire Maury. He is invaluable to my own sense of racial superiority’” (50). Mother immediately bristles, defending Maury’s inability to hold down a job and chalking it up to poor health. This is only one stake in the battle over Bascombs and Compsons—a battle initiated and perpetuated by Mother to feed her own immoderate sense of pride and, concomitantly, her feelings of ill use.

When Mother makes the case for Caddy’s disastrous marriage to Herbert Head in Quentin’s recollections, she emphasizes that Herbert has promised her anointed heir, Jason, a job at his bank: “Jason will make a splendid banker he is the only one of my children with any practical sense you can thank me for that he takes after my people the others are all Compsons” (107). Mother is impressed with Herbert’s automobile and his money, commenting on how much Herbert has “spoiled” them with girlish glee (107). Later, after Caddy has been renounced by her husband—ostensibly because Miss Quentin is not his child—Mother relies on her bloated sense of Bascomb pride to justify not taking Caddy’s money for Miss Quentin’s upkeep: “’Yes,’ she says. ‘We Bascombs need nobody’s charity. Certainly not that of a fallen woman’” (252). This, of course, allows Jason to continue swapping the real checks, which he pockets, with the fake checks, which he encourages Mother to burn. It is a scheme worthy of his Uncle Maury.

Mother’s hubris regarding her family name compels her to change her youngest son’s name, furthering the theme of Identity, Legacy, and Destiny. With his disability, little Maury cannot be named for a Bascomb; instead, he gets a fresh start as a Benjamin—a name that often signifies the youngest son in a family, per the Old Testament association with Jacob’s many sons. This has two effects: Benjy is allowed to forge his own identity, such as it is within his sphere of capacity—he loves Caddy unconditionally, regardless of Mother’s edicts, for example. On the other hand, as his primary caretaker Dilsey points out, “Name aint going to help him. Hurt him, neither. Folks dont have no luck, changing names” (67). His circumstances do not change, regardless of which name is attributed to him—a name is merely an empty symbol. However, Caddy disagrees: “Benjamin came out of the bible, Caddy said. It’s a better name for him than Maury was” (67). This view emphasizes Benjy’s essential goodness and innocence, a proverbial child of God.

Still, it must be noted that Benjamin is most often referred to by his nickname, Benjy, therefore undercutting the biblical association. For her part, Mother despises both “Caddy” and “Benjy” as shortened versions of given names: “’Candace.’ Mother said. ‘I told you not to call him that. It was bad enough when your father insisted on calling you by that silly nickname, and I will not have him called by one. Nicknames are vulgar. Only common people use them’” (73). As with many of Mother’s pronouncements, this one is largely ignored, but it reaffirms her exaggerated sense of status and privilege to assert such notions. Significantly, the two children who are regularly referred to by their “vulgar” nicknames are the two children who represent the symbolic degeneration of the Compson family: Benjy with his disability is seen by Mother as a punishment for her sins while Caddy’s sexual transgressions indicate a moral decline.

Still, for all the irrelevance of naming, there is significance to the inheritance one receives from family—though, in this novel, how that significance is interpreted is very much dependent on whose perspective it is filtered through. For example, Caddy names her daughter Quentin presumably to honor her brother Quentin, who has died by suicide. This leads Mother to assume when Miss Quentin goes missing that she, too, has taken her own life; in this case, the name reveals the destiny: “’I knew the minute they named her Quentin this would happen,’ Mrs Compson said” (327). However, Miss Quentin’s behavior is most often compared to that of her mother Caddy; in fact, Jason often conflates the two in his frequent rages against the vagaries of life: “Like I say you cant do anything with a woman like that, if she’s got it in her. If it’s in her blood, you cant do anything with her. The only thing you can do is to get rid of her, let her go on and live with her own sort” (268). While he is directly referring to Miss Quentin here, in particular her penchant for disobeying him, he is implicitly comparing her to Caddy, her mother, who has been exiled for her own sexual transgressions. Blood will out, as it is said; the sins of the mother are visited upon the daughter.

At the same time, however, Jason acknowledges that he chases Miss Quentin around town “because of my mother’s good name” (268), not really because he cares about her moral well-being. Earlier, he makes a reference to the illustrious Compson name as well: “Blood, I says, governors and generals. It’s a dam good thing we never had any kings and presidents; we’d all be down there at Jackson chasing butterflies” (265). Here, he refers to the asylum in a neighboring town, suggesting that the degeneration of the Compson name has compromised them almost to the point of institutionalization. However, Miss Quentin has not died by suicide nor has Caddy abandoned her daughter: Names are but whispers of inheritance, a nod to generational bonds, but they are not, in the end, irreversible destiny.