Mosquitoes Didn't Suck

I would first like to call attention to my nuanced, incredibly clever post title.  Layers and layers of meaning.

Now, to the prologue.  I've heard it said that an author is a composite of his characters.  Or maybe I just made that up moments ago; at any rate, doesn't it sound about right?  Certainly, in the case of Mosquitoes, it  holds up based on what I've read thus far.  As I have discerned from our biographical recapitulation, Faulkner seems to be equal parts Gordon, Talliaferro, and Fairchild; Fairchild, of course, because he is an author.  As the Semitic gentleman (Julius) states, there is - or was - a certain conception that writers are not tantamount to artists.  Faulkner is also Gordon, then, because he seems to persist in his career at transcending the glass ceiling separating writers from artists.  We have observed this less artfully (pun probably intended) in Faulkner's early published poetry, and we observe it more subtly in this prologue; Fairchild, due in part to his grasp and command of language, is quite personable but still knows his way around self-important busybodies like Hooper.  In contrast, Gordon is perceptibly exasperated and aloof even among his flatterers; observe the drop in temperature from the street exchange between Talliaferro and Mrs. Maurier to their ensuing brief visit with Gordon in his studio.

Then, of course, there is Talliaferro.  In the brief exposition provided, the main gist seems to be that he prefers to obscure his Alabama roots, unremarkable life, and even his backwoods surname, in the interest of perpetuating the popular perception of his personality.  In this light, the fact that Patricia calls him Tarver as they part - a name she should have no way of knowing - is quite interesting; hopefully it is explained later.  Talliaferro (nee Tarver) seems rather effeminate; his preoccupation with his clothing, his obsequiousness and deference, even his assumption of a new last name (traditionally the lot of a newly married woman).  Sort of Faulkneresque, I think, both in his dandyhood and his desire to define himself without actually having done much.

I'll leave it to someone else to comment about Gordon v. Patricia.  Can't wait to get them on a boat together.  Mmm, mmm, mmm.

Lastly, let's talk about everyone itching, slapping, and scratching.  Hey, must be the titular mosquitoes.  They are pervasive, and they chiefly strike at Talliaferro, near the beginning of the prologue, and at Patricia, near its end.  Whether their choice of victim is anything other than coincidence remains to be seen, but I will comment that the character most reminiscent of a mosquito thus far is Mrs. Maurier.  She is, after all, a mindless thing that flits about vapidly and draws vitality from the lives of others; this is true of her furtive need to understand art (or appear to) and also of her need to surround herself with men.  As her frank assessment of Talliaferro reveals, any man will do.  Will this turn out to be a critique of the relationship between artist, patron, and appreciator, likening one of these groups to a parasitic insect?  Stay tuned.