Tag: grief

Faulkner, “Shall Not Perish” (1943)

At Colleville-sur-Mer. (© FlaglerLive)

At Colleville-sur-Mer. (© FlaglerLive)

A lesser known sequel to “Two Soldiers,” equally sentimental in a different direction, “Shall Not Perish” is a eulogy of grief through the eyes of Pete’s family, the Griers, that of Major de Spain, rich and poor, both having lost their sons, both contending with the persistence of grief and the fluidity of the senseless: Major de Spain finds relief from railing about how his son had no country anyway: “His country and mine both was ravaged and polluted and destroyed eighty years ago, before even I was born. His forefathers fought and died for it then, even though what they fought and lost for was a dream.” It’s also a story told through the prism of the Gettysburg Address’s final words, so the whiff of propaganda is as much in the air as that of cordite drifting in from the Pacific. How long will that solidarity between rich and poor persist? A 9 year old can answer that.

Pete’s mother and her surviving son, Pete’s now 9-year-old, who’d been one of the “Two Soldiers,” pay their respects to General de Spain, and Mother Mother tries to console him. De Spain doesn’t seem to know who they really are, but accepts the shared moment of grief, in which a gun plays a role I did grasp. There are lines as if plucked from Henry James: “Maybe women are not supposed to know why their sons must die in battle; maybe all they are supposed to do is just to grieve for them. But my son knew why.” So did her ancestors. The story ends in an uncomfortably chest-thumping rhapsody for the United States, maybe necessary at the time of publication, but not nearly as effective as the simpler melancholy and fortitude of “Two Soldiers.” It’s as if the last paragraphs, rousing though they are–and impossibly those of a 9 year old–were written on the same movie lot where Ronald Reagan spent his share of military service, in Hollywood. “Shall Not Perish” was rejected by eight magazines. It would have been accepted by all eight on Sept. 12, 2001 and since.

Story, July-August 1943

O’Hara: “The Cold House”

The story was titled “Cold House” when it ran in The New Yorker, which summarized it this way: “Mrs. Carnavon drove several miles to visit her summer home in the middle of the winter. When she arrived she didn’t know why she had come. She climbed the stairs to her son’s room; she had thought of leaving that room the way it was. Looking at the objects that had belonged to her son; a diamond-shaped plaque, with the clasped hands and the Greek letters; a photograph of a baseball team, a magazine that he may have read, she realized how little she had known her son and that by keeping his things, she would end by hating a memory that she only knew how to love.”

We don’t know how he died. He was 24. Nor do we know how her husband died, though her husband died a long time before. The war seems too long ago or not yet (there’s an allusion to fascism in Europe). Maybe he died in Spain.

Of course it’s more powerful than that:

The New Yorker, April 2, 1938