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have been severely criticized, I find them serious, flawed, and extraordi–
narily moving). When he takes a trip (and though he was an aviator,
one no longer associates him with flying), he flies because it is the fastest
way to get there. And he would use any modern invention from tele–
vision to psychoanalysis, if he needed it. For Faulkner, vast cities, planes,
radios, cinemas, factories, automobiles are aspects of contemporary life.
He feels it is absurd to be intimidated or enthralled by any of it, that
people should merely use these things, make use of them as the facilities
they are.
This is precisely the point for Faulkner, who, though insulated, is
most modern. These are things, inventions, tools, instrumentalities,
gadgets, and neither virtue nor evil resides in them. They are to be used
today as yesterday mules were used and stereopticans enjoyed. He believes
these things should not dominate his life, nor shape his thought, nor
direct his vision. And he sees to it that they don't. Faulkner is an un–
Marxian man who believes in choice.
A final note: When Faulkner arrived at the airport here before
taking off for Stockholm, a reporter met him and asked him what he
thought was the most decadent thing in America (Faulkner writes
decadent stories). He said, "What you're doing, Miss." Knowing
Faulkner's profound wish to remain anonymous, I told him I had
written about him. He looked at me a little sadly, and very quietly said,
"I can't tell you what to do, Harvey. That's for you to say." My con–
science isn't altogether at ease yet.
Harvev Breit
