Mr. Talliaferro

"Desire with Mr. Talliaferro had long since become an unfulfilled habit requiring no longer any particular object at all."

Faulkner's talent for creating awkward, grotesque characters who are just simply embarassing to observe (i.e., Januarius Jones) seems to only be strengthening in Mosquitoes. Mr. Talliaferro seems a strong candidate for the grotesques in the novel thus far: so utterly concerned with sexuality, outward appearances, and "art," yet at an utter loss as to how to function as a person, Mr. Talliaferro seems to go through many arduous processes (making friends with artists, creating a huge fuss out of carrying a milk bottle, etc.) without any idea of why he does so. I think his presumed name itself is an interesting sign of his futile attempts at being some kind of cultured gentleman. He seems so eager to escape his obscure agrarian roots in Alabama, yet in Italian, "talli" means something along the lines of "tiller," and "ferro" typically indicates chains, rods, or horseshoes made of iron. Thus he ends up changing his common name of "Tarver" to something that is even more closely associated with farming and labor. Faulkner's interest in languages (remember he took French and Spanish for that one semester in college) seems to indicate he had a good idea of the joke he was playing on this luckless character. That and the fact that, as we saw in class last week, when it comes to Faulkner, there is always a reason for everything.

As a candidate for the grotesque, however, it's important that Talliaferro not only be repugnant, but also manage to invoke some pity or sympathy from the reader. Some may not agree, but I found myself feeling quite sorry for him. He's like an overgrown child, running around trying to fit in with all sorts of people, but forgetting to actually have a personality himself. This shows up quite early in our introduction to him, as he hangs around the sculptor Gordon and wishes to himself that he had acquired the "habit of masturbation" when he was younger so as to be more pleasing to his "artistic acquaintances." He is easily bullied by the silly, simpering Mrs. Maurier, completely ignored by her niece Patricia, and made the butt of Fairchild's jokes. Nobody takes poor Mr. Talliaferro seriously. Even Mrs. Maurier, the collector of men, doesn't seem to count him among her most interesting acquaintances.

It doesn't seem to be much of stretch to equate Talliaferro with the eager, hapless Faulkner. The introduction of the novel suggests that the character of Fairchild was a satirical portrait of the writer Sherwood Andersen, and the way Talliaferro trips over himself at dinner for a chance to speak with Fairchild is strongly reminiscent of the young Faulkner planting himself outside Pontalba Apartments in Jackson Square to wait for Andersen to come out. While, as in Soldiers' Pay, the characters of Mosquitoes seem to be a composite representation of Faulkner, these characters differ in that Faulkner seems to be having a good time with them. It's almost as if he had learned to lighten up since his last novel, with all its cumbersome symbolism and "dying gods," and live it up a little. I enjoyed reading this prologue because sometimes it's nice to read an author who seems willing to laugh at himself.