Tragic Vision Research Articles

The Tragic Vision of Politics: Ethics, Interests and OrdersThe Tragic Vision of Politics: Ethics, Interests and OrdersBy Richard Ned Lebow. (New York Cambridge University Press, 2003.)

Previous articleNext article No AccessThe Tragic Vision of Politics: Ethics, Interests and Orders The Tragic Vision of Politics: Ethics, Interests and OrdersBy Richard Ned Lebow. (New York Cambridge University Press, 2003.)Colin DueckColin Dueck1University of Colorado Search for more articles by this author PDFPDF PLUSFull Text Add to favoritesDownload CitationTrack CitationsPermissionsReprints Share onFacebookTwitterLinkedInRedditEmail SectionsMoreDetailsFiguresReferencesCited by The Journal of Politics Volume 67, Number 2May 2005 Sponsored by the Southern Political Science Association Article DOIhttps://doi.org/10.1111/j.1468-2508.2005.00331_6.x Views: 73Total views on this site Citations: 1Citations are reported from Crossref Copyright © 2005, Southern Political Science AssociationPDF download Crossref reports the following articles citing this article:Michael Roe Dimensions, (Oct 2019): 1–30.https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-31848-2_1

Tragic Heroines and Wise Women in the Novels of Somerville and Ross

The novels of Somerville and Ross depict, behind their wit and social satire, a darker tragic vision in which class and gender overdetermine the outcomes often awaiting female characters. Even the heroines of relatively privileged background are vulnerable to change and insecurity. In The Real Charlotte the eponymous heroine’s intelligence and determination fail to guard her against the predicament of the ‘unmarriageable’ woman in the society of the period. Her strength of character, her capacity to foresee and influence events (like the archaic Irish or Greek Wise Woman figure) turn to despair and damage to others. In The Silver Fox the outcomes are happier for the two heroines through the agency of another pre-Olympian tragic Wise Woman, herself the victim of tragic fate. In Sarah’s Youth, a notable example of Modernism in Irish writing, the Wise Woman figures are the heroine’s half-sister, and an older mentor-figure. Tragedy, engendered in the conflictual social-family nexus, is averted through the agency of foreknowledge, and a certain relative modernisation of society’s attitudes to (economically independent) women.

Three Faces of Saul: An Intertextual Approach to Biblical Tragedy (review)

JSOT Supplement 339. London and New York: Sheffield Academic Press, 2002. 276 pp. $90.00. This book, which originally was author's dissertation at University of St. Andrews, takes up question of Saul's portrayal in Hebrew Bible and in two later works in western world, Alphonse de Lamartine's drama Saul: Tragedie, and Thomas Hardy's The Mayor of Casterbridge. These three works constitute three faces of Saul. Nicholsoh's stated purpose in her book is a substantial investigation into story [of Saul] as viewed by poetic eye rather than simply critical (p. 11), a purpose she pursues through an intertextual approach, whereby she examines ways in which Lamartine and Hardy utilize and reinterpret biblical story of Saul to reflect their own contexts and historical periods. The book is organized with an Introduction followed by three sections (corresponding to three faces) of two chapters each. The Introduction provides an overview of scholarship on Saul, followed by discussions of literary theory and postmodernism, intertextuality, and tragedy. In Section I, Nicholson considers Saul as portrayed in 1 Samuel. Chapter 1 reviews scholarly proposals for interpreting Saul's story as tragic, then examines structural elements in 1 Samuel that lend themselves to tragic, including doublets and repetitions. Chapter 2 examines deity's involvement in Saul's story, involvement that Nicholson argues is decidedly ambiguous. Nicholsoh's consideration of deity as a character in 1 Samuel, Saul, and The Mayor of Casterbridge is one of strengths of her book. Section II considers Lamartine's drama Saul: Tragedie. Through an examination of plot and characterization in Chapter 3, Nicholson argues that Lamartine took tragic elements he found in Saul story and reinterpreted them in dramatic form in his play according to Aristotelian categories of tragic. Because Lamartine created a tragic drama through his interpretation of 1 Samuel, Nicholson cites this as evidence that the tragic vision exists in Hebrew Bible (p. 146). In Chapter 4, thematic and stylistic devices and role of God in Saul are examined, with conclusion that Lamartine lent elements of Greek tragedy to biblical myth (p. 175). Section III takes up Hardy's The Mayor of Casterbridge. In Chapter 5, after a brief review of Hardy scholarship and a discussion of Voltaire's influence on Hardy, Nicholson examines characters Henchard and Farfrae to argue they are modeled on Saul and David. Chapter 6 examines sociological and feminist approaches to The Mayor of Casterbridge (Nicholson includes here a sociological consideration of Saul's story). These two approaches point out similarities and differences between Hardy's work and his biblical source. The absence of deity from Hardy's work also is taken up in this chapter. Finally, in Chapter 7, Nicholson discusses intertextual relationships between Lamartine and Hardy's works, then provides her concluding comments. Three Faces of Saul is useful as an extended consideration of way two European writers reinterpreted Saul's story in light of their own cultural circumstances. Nicholsoh's discussion of previous scholarly work on Lamartine and, especially, Hardy make clear that her work fills a gap in scholarly literature. …

The tragic vision of politics: ethics, interests and orders

Is it possible to preserve national security through ethical policies? Richard Ned Lebow seeks to show that ethics are actually essential to the national interest. Recapturing the wisdom of classical realism through a close reading of the texts of Thucydides, Clausewitz and Hans Morgenthau, Lebow argues that, unlike many modern realists, classic realists saw close links between domestic and international politics, and between interests and ethics. Lebow uses this analysis to offer a powerful critique of post-Cold War American foreign policy. He also develops an ontological foundation for ethics and makes the case for an alternate ontology for social science based on Greek tragedy's understanding of life and politics. This is a topical and accessible book, written by a leading scholar in the field.

The Tragedy of Realism: Morality, Power, and IR Theory

The Tragic Vision of Politics: Ethics, Interests and Orders. By Richard Ned Lebow. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003. 424 pp., $75.00: (ISBN 0-521-82753-1), $27.00: (ISBN 0-521-53485-2). The Tragic Vision of Politics: Ethics, Interests and Orders by Richard Ned Lebow is difficult to summarize. It is about many things, and it is open to a variety of interpretations. It is also experimental in style in that the first chapter is a short story about Richard Nixon's experiences in hell. As is inevitably the case with a book as ambitious as this one, it has flaws both in substance and in style. But it is a book that is well worth reading for anyone interested in international relations theory, and in the ontology or historiography of the field. The abstract at the beginning of the book describes it as an argument that national security is best preserved through the use of ethical policies. This argument is certainly part of the book, but it does not in the end come across as the central theme. The title of the book, The Tragic Vision of Politics , is in this sense a more accurate description; international politics is tragic in the manner of ancient Greek tragedies. Lebow argues that the principal classical realists were all at heart tragedians, and that their tragic vision lends an insight into the nature and practice of international politics that contemporary realists, with their neopositivist ontologies, have lost. Half of …

The rites of identity: the religious naturalism and cultural criticism of Kenneth Burke and Ralph Ellison

Acknowledgments xi CHAPTER ONE Identity and the Rites of Symbolic Action 1 CHAPTER TWO Kenneth Burke's Natural Pieties of Identity 25 CHAPTER THREE Catharsis and Tragedy: Kenneth Burke's Rhetoric of Sacrifice 57 CHAPTER FOUR The Spiritual Utility of Comedy 80 CHAPTER FIVE Ralph Ellison and the Vernacular Pieties of American Identity 99 CHAPTER SIX Ellison's Tragic Vision of Sacrifice 120 CHAPTER SEVEN The Blues of American Identity: Comic Transcendence in Ellison 139 CHAPTER EIGHT Both a Part of and Apart From: The Spirit and Ethics of a Religious Pragmatism 157 Notes 173 Bibliography 195 Index 199

Swallowed futures, indigestible pasts Post-apocalyptic narratives of rights in Kleist and Doctorow

Previous analyses of the intertextual relations between Heinrich von Kleist's 'Michael Kohlhaas' (1810–11) and E.L. Doctorow's Ragtime (1976[1975]) have focused on adaptation, assessing the changes made to the original. By contrast, this article focuses on what motivates the choice of Kleist's novella as an intertext in the first place and argues for a different, narrative logic binding the two. Both texts fixate with great ambivalence on the potential for transcending pervasive difference in the general and common, and they are both post-apocalyptic responses, alternately tragic and ironic visions of transcended difference. Together, the two tell a story of the discursive formation and deformation of the idea of universal human rights – a story that suspends the discourse of human rights between two traumatic moments of articulation and violence (in the late 18th century and the mid-20th century, respectively) that animate, yet remain inaccessible to each text.

To glow with bright colours : Jimmy Gatz's trip to Oz

L. Frank Baum's The wonderful wizard of Oz (1900) could have furnished F. Scott Fitzgerald with a matrix of imagery and thematic for his The Great Gatsby (1925). The children's classic had sold widely and even been dramatized during Fitzgerald's childhood. Its emphasis on the greenness of the Emerald City foretells the role played by the colour green in Fitzgerald's novel. Baum's relentless optimism offers a foil to the profoundly tragic vision of the novelist; his title figure (also from the American Midwest) resembles Gatsby in his fraudulence. The shallowness of material fulfilment had preoccupied Fitzgerald since "The Diamond as Big as the Ritz" (1921). Gatsby enriched that vision. Could Wizard have furnished him with a network of imagery?

Tragedy and Timon of Athens

One of the most vexed terms in literary criticism is tragedy. As critics we often denounce the popular use of the term when the death of the family pet is called a terrible yet we would be hard put to give a precise explanation of a more exact sense that would cover all the uses in our critical writing. The model of Greek tragedy, the ideas in Aristotle's treatise, the examples of Early Modern English and seventeenth-century French plays, the theories of Hegel and Nietzsche, and countless modern texts and critical analyses: all these come together to offer a wide span of mutually contradictory senses. Is tragedy a subgenre of drama, defined by a set of formal elements? Is it a vision of the world that is represented in different genres? Does it entail a philosophical or theological stance? Is it dependent on a specific set of social conditions? Has it died, or is it always with us? Is the term neutrally descriptive or honorific, so that to be a tragedy is to be great literature? One might well argue that there is no essential definition of the term, that a critic's only task is to make clear what he or she means when using it and then to adhere to that definition. There is much to be said for that view, but there are perils in a laissez-faire approach to terminology. First, it is easy for both reader and writer to slide between different senses, generating confusion and false arguments. Thus, because a play incorporates a set of formal criteria that constitute tragedy, it may be assumed to embody a distinctive tragic vision. Second, some definitions of tragedy incorporate dubious assumptions: since Christian tragedy is defined (by some) as impossible, no play written by a presumed Christian can be a tragedy. Third, finding one's way among writings with a wide spread of contradictory meanings of tragedy is confusing; broad agreement on the general sense of key terms is important for a critical conversation to ensue. I should like to offer some principles for regulating the free market in definitions of tragedy, not quite a definition proposal for one preferred sense, since I believe in the value of critics' experimenting with the term, but some guides that should help to clarify the conversation. I shall use Shakespeare's Timon of Athens, that most problematic of plays, as a test of the principles offered. It is a play that pushes the limits of tragedy, that may even have got into the section of the First Folio as an afterthought, (1) and that has inspired much controversy about its generic location. (2) In what ways is it sensible and useful to talk about Timon as a tragedy? My governing assumption is that the most valuable function of the generic term tragedy is clarification of the individual play, not the other way around. Timon offers a good test of how the principles I offer can make the idea of tragedy helpful in understanding a difficult play. Perhaps the main peril in critical ideas of tragedy is what might be called generic enthusiasm. Because many great works of literature from Aeschylus to Racine and beyond are tragedies, the genre itself is often sanctified: to be a tragedy is to earn a place in the pantheon, and not to be a tragedy is to fail of deification. Tragedy and epic are especially subject to this attitude, unlike the sonnet, for example. No one thinks that writing a sonnet is equivalent to writing a great poem. At most doing so demonstrates a certain technical competence. But in the same way, if one's definition of tragedy is formal, there seems to be no justification for making it also honorific: there can be and are many bad, boring, and insipid tragedies. Judgments of quality do not follow necessarily from the fact that a text matches a set of formal criteria. Rather it is tragedy defined as a distinctive vision that is the usual source of the honorific weight: tragedy is great because it asserts the truth of a profound view of the world or portrays the world as embodying that truth. …

Gouldner's Tragic Vision

Classical literature, specifically ancient Greek philosophy and especially the study of Greek tragedy, is helpful in tracing out and understanding the transitions Alvin Gouldner made during his career as a sociologist. This article argues that a latent tragic orientation or vision existed during Gouldner's early career as a standout in the field of industrial sociology and that this tragic vision became manifest around 1962 as Gouldner was developing more and more strident denunciations of establishment sociology. This case study of Gouldner's career teaches a valuable lesson about the importance of the tragic vision in helping sociologists to understand the limitations of the scientific quest for knowledge.

Gouldner's Tragic Vision

Classical literature, specifically ancient Greek philosophy and especially the study of Greek tragedy, is helpful in tracing out and understanding the transitions Alvin Gouldner made during his career as a sociologist. This article argues that a latent tragic orientation or vision existed during Gouldner's early career as a standout in the field of industrial sociology and that this tragic vision became manifest around 1962 as Gouldner was developing more and more strident denunciations of establishment sociology. This case study of Gouldner's career teaches a valuable lesson about the importance of the tragic vision in helping sociologists to understand the limitations of the scientific quest for knowledge.

La vision tragique du monde de Roger Martin du Gard présentée dans ses romans

The tragic vision of the world, in the opinion of RMG consisted in ascertaining that, in the universe, neither God nor any metaphysical conception took any place. In this understanding the world is absurd and the presence of man in this world is pointless as well. A human being thrown on his/her own resources, surrounded by enemy forces - the biological fatality, that is to say diseases, old age and death, and the historical fatality in the form of wars weigh on, is always abandoned.

Romance and Tragedy in (Post) Modern Planning: A Pragmatist's Perspective

This paper draws on the literary themes of Romance and Tragedy in reflecting on the nature and role of planning in the contemporary world. It explores these themes through a neo-pragmatist lens that is concerned with both romantic creativity and goal-directed, purposive action. These literary themes direct attention to a number of key dilemmas that have exercised the minds of planners in recent times including, for example: the relationship between individual creativity and social action; the connections between reason and emotion; the dark side of modern planning; and, problems of justice and moral culpability. The paper calls for a 'tragic vision' that would involve the deliberate exercise of the 'will to plan' despite a recognition that utopian dreams will never be realized in any absolute sense, and that planning will always have negative unanticipated consequences. The paper refers specifically to the South African context where the national project of Reconstruction and Development provided planners with a rare opportunity to participate in a romantic endeavour of social transformation, but where some of the earlier hopes are now fading.

Бен’ямін і Гольдман як читачі Паскаля. Теорія смутку В. Бен’яміна і теорія трагічного бачення Л. Гольдмана

The article describes and partially compares Walter Benjamin's theory of sorrow and Lucien Goldman's theory of tragic vision. The comparison is made in the light of the connections between both theories and Pascal's philosophy. The author concludes that these theories are essentially analogous and complementary. In the author's opinion, both theories, despite all the differences, clarify sadness and tragedy by addressing the paradox of human existence that consists in the discovery of the vast infinity of the world and the inaccessibility of transcendence, in the light of which, however, we are forced to think about our own existence. Based on the results of the review, the author emphasizes the essential parallelism and connection of both theories with Pascal's philosophy, which to some extent can be seen as their common ground.

Alvin W. Gouldner and the Tragic Vision in Sociology

Alvin Gouldner's life and work is considered within the framework of his own attempt to fashion a reflexive sociology during the second half of his career. In the first half Gouldner was a functionalist and dutifully contributed insights and theoretical innovations to the paradigm, even while remaining critical of Talcott Parsons' own version of structural-functionalism. Later, by 1962, Gouldner broke from the dominant tradition to become an outspoken critique of establishment sociology, in the process becoming more sympathetic to competing theories, especially Marxism. Eventually, Marxism, too, was found to be inadequate because of its lack of reflexivity, and Gouldner became further alienated from both traditions of sociology. Concomitantly, Gouldner was battling on personal and professional fronts in his role of social critic. He became increasingly hostile toward others for their willing compliance with prevailing cultural prescriptions, which he believed were robbing human beings of their agency, vitality, and will to power. Lacking authentic knowledge of oneself, one could not hope to create social theories which benefited society and contributed to the liberation of the human spirit. Gouldner was a tragic hero, for although he came to an understanding of the limitations of human strivings in creating socially beneficial social theory, and fought valiantly to establish a program to fill this lacuna, he ultimately failed to deliver upon the promise of these insights because of his own hubris (on the personal front) and the internal paradoxes of reflexive sociology (on the professional front).

Living With It: The Comic Valedictories of Faulkner and O'Neill, "Ah, Wilderness!" and The Reivers

All but of the Reivers' complicated, almost slapstick jokes have been played out; Colonel Linscomb and the assembled white men, awed and befuddled, try sort out how a borrowed car was traded for a stolen horse that had some fishy source of speed. Ned, the stowaway manipulator of plot, explains, Everybody got kinfolks that aint got no more sense than Bobo. Ned's is wisdom that links disparate works by Faulkner and O'Neill. Such wisdom allows my apparently incorrect title. These strangely warm, nostalgic ascents from the darkness by Nobel laureates noted for their tragic visions, these valedictions forbidding mourning, may be considered parallel Comic Valedictories--parallel in origin, in reception, and in pattern, as in ways largely unexplored, their creators led somewhat parallel lives. Strictly speaking, of course, neither The Reivers nor Ah, Wilderness! is a Valedictory. As Judith Wittenberg points out,(1) Faulkner didn't know that the book he himself called one of the funniest books ever would be his last,(2) nor did O'Neill intend that this play, which surprised him by coming easily that I'm scared of it, a play for which he told his son, I have an immense affection,(3) would be a final word--and indeed, it was not. After Wilderness came five major plays, including Long Day's Journey Into Night, which is the Janus side of Ah, Wilderness!(4) Although both Edmond Volpe's label of Faulkner's novel as a didactic fairy tale and Michael Manheim's conclusion that O'Neill is determined to trowel honey over bitterness in his play seem pejorative if not reductive,(5) readers may acknowledge that both honored valedictorians, if you will, use their comic vehicles ladle out more overt advice, especially advice the young, than they were wont do elsewhere. Curiously pious advice as it might be, it nevertheless resonates the patterns of romance delineated by Northrup Frye. From James J. Kibler and Cleanth Brooks in the sixties Judith Wittenberg and Susan Tuck more recently, readers have traced possible influences of O'Neill in Faulkner's work;(6) certainly Faulkner's 1922 article in The Mississippian is proof that Faulkner read and probably saw early O'Neill. Through mutual editors at Random House (Saxe Commins and Bennett Cerf) and through Hollywood connections (collaborator Dudley Murphy had directed Emperor Jones) he also knew more than the work of the playwright, who was only nine years his senior. What O'Neill did with fatally feuding New England farmers acting out their desires under elms, Faulkner did with Snopeses and Sartorises. What O'Neill did with the intra-family greed, jealousy, and sexual desire of the Mammons, Faulkner did with Sutpens; what O'Neill created of the masculine solidarity borne of lonely stretches in sailors' watches, Faulkner brought the wilderness of Ike McCaslin and Sam Fathers. Both interrogate the savage effects of race and gender; compare Emperor Jones and Red Leaves. Both reflect the continuing pressure of history, particularly the Civil War (Mourning Becomes Electra and Absalom! among so many others). Both get inside the skin of titanic and mad characters and into the simple minds of those who, as Anna Christie says, are poor nuts, and things happen, and we get mixed in wrong, that's all or the people who, as The Mansion's Gavin Stevens says just do the best they can ... the poor sons of bitches.(7) Those who have commented on the Faulkner-O'Neill connection point particularly their uses of the plots and devices of classic tragedy. Unremarked are the parallel uses of the plots and devices of comedy, and the nearly parallel ironic disjunction between text, whether novel or play, and subtext--the not-so-idyllic family life of these laureates. While Faulkner's novel of course allows far more characters, more playfully meandering side-trips, more subtlety, and more time engage the reader, it shares much with O'Neill's play of thirty years before. …

The House of the Seven Gables : une tragédie gothique

Although Hawthorne himself chose it in the preface to describe The House of the Seven Gables, paving the way for almost universal critical usage, the word «romance» fails to convey the gloomy atmosphere of the book. Going back to Aristotle's Poetics but also drawing from recent critical assessments, this article purports to demonstrate that the text is informed by a tragic vision. Through the staging of a hereditary malediction in a gothic house that brings together xviith-century opportunistic fanaticism and contemporary greed and hypocrisy, and in spite of too conspicuously comic an ending, the writer expresses a conception of time and fate much akin to the spirit of Greek tragedy — a conception that entails a dialectics of fate and individual freedom.

:Shakespearean Tragedy and the Common Law: The Art of Punishment

Shakespearean Tragedy and the Common Law examines punishment in Shakespeare's tragedies from the perspective of English Renaissance common law cases and theory. William Shakespeare's work is grounded conceptually in the artificial reason of common law as embodied by the great jurist of the age, Sir Edward Coke. Coke's legal rationale is sufficiently distinct from our own to suggest that a reasonable spectator in Renaissance England would interpret key elements of Shakespeare's art differently than we do today. Punishment, the sine qua non of these plays, is treated via a spectrum of legal theories: retribution, restitution, deterrence, and reform. Dr. Hawley's close examination of all ten plays and some fifty cases reveals how law, art, and philosophy shape Shakespeare's tragic vision.

Surrealists, Cannibals and the Other Barbarians: (On the Aesthetics of Simulacra)

Breton's Nadja is an example of erotic ecstasy. The transformation of the self through an unrepressed erotic experience was Bataille's aim. Lorca's tragic visions of the city of New York as an netherworld dominated by satanic powers ended in a prophetic vision, an apocalyptic epiphany of

Yoknapatawpha: Images and Voices

PHOTO ESSAY ìfoknapatawpha Images and Voices by George G. Stewart The Yoknapatawpha County ofWilliam Faulkner's major fiction, from Sartoris (Flags in the Dust) (1929) to Go Down, Moses (1942), is a dark world haunted by the past—particularly by the legacy of slavery— and paralyzed by obsession, violence, revenge, and defeat. Although interlaced with humor and acts ofcourage and sacrifice, it is essentially a tragic vision. When we read these novels and stories, the characters still convey vividly the timeless "problems of the human heart in conflict with itself"; but the models for these characters are dead, and the rural society they composed has changed significantly and, in several instances, ironically. Consequently, to be faithful to Faulkner's dark vision of a South before 1943, a photographer cannot usually mirror that world in the current north Mississippi social scene. Although after more than fifty years a local resident may appear on the streets ofnow cosmopolitan Oxford and seem to be stepping from the pages of the author's fiction, those remarkable occasions are rare. But there were monuments, locales, architecture, and landmarks in or near Lafayette and Tippah Counties that were definite or tangible images for Yoknapatawpha . Several ofthose still evocative objects and places have survived commercial progress, boosterism, historic preservation, and the ravages of time. The street runs on ahead, where the square opens and the monument stands before the courthouse. We mount again while the heads turn with that expression which we know; save Jewel. He does not get on, even though the wagon has started again. "Get in,Jewel," I say. . . . But he does not get in. Instead he sets his foot on the turning hub ofthe rear wheel, one hand grasping the stanchion, and with the hub turning smoothly under his sole he lifts the other foot and squats there, staring straight ahead, motionless, lean, wooden-backed, as though carved From As I Lay Dying by William Faulkner. Copyright ¡yp and renewed ipjS by William Faulkner. Reprinted bypermission ofRandom House, Inc. the courthouse centennial and serene above the town From Requiem tor a Nun by William Faulkner. Copyright iyyo, iyri by William Faulkner. Reprintedbypermission ofRandom House, Inc. 32 OEORQE Q. STEWART the thick, slow, black, unsunned streams almost without current, which once each year ceased to flow at all and then reversed, spreading, drowning the rich land and subsiding again, leaving it still richer. "'Delta Autumn"from Go Down, Moses by William Faulkner. Copyright 1942 by William Faulkner. Reprinted bypermission ofRandom House, Inc. Yoknapatawpha: Images and Voices 3 3 He stood on a stone pedestal, in his frock coat and bareheaded, one leg slightly advanced and one hand resting lightly on the stone pylon beside him. His head was lifted a litde in that gesture ofhaughty arrogance which repeated itself generation after generation with a fateful fidelity, his back to the world and his carven eyes gazing out across the valley where his railroad ran and beyond it to the blue changeless hills From Flags in the Dust by William Faulkner. Copyright 1929 and renewed 19J7 h William Faulkner. Copyright ifj) by Random House, Inc. Reprinted bypermission of Random House, Inc. 34 QEORQE Q. STEWART "Never you mind," Dilsey said. "I seed de beginnin, en now I sees de endin." . . . They reached the gate and entered. Immediately Ben began to whimper again, and for a while all of them looked up the drive at the square, paintless house with its rotting portico. From The Sound and the Fury by William Faulkner. Copyright iy2y and renewed i^sy by William Faulkner. Reprinted bypermission ofRandom House, Inc. Yoknapatawpha: Images and Voices 3 5 he returned and I watched him clean the derringer and reload it and we learned that the dead man was almost a neighbor, a hill man . . . and we never to know if the man actually intended to rob Father or not because Father had shot too quick From The Unvanquished by William Faulkner. Copyright 1934, 19)% 19)6, 19)8 and renewed 1962, 196] by William Faulkner and 1964, 1966 by Fstelle Faulkner andfillFaulknerSummers. Reprinted bypermission ofRandom House, Inc. 36 QEORQE Q. STEWART a deep ditch which was a town landmark. The tops of...