Source of book: I own this
First, let me start with a controversial opinion: Eudora Welty is a better writer than William Faulkner. This is not to say that Faulkner is a bad writer - he’s quite good, actually. I just think that Welty is better. Also, her snappy response to the inevitable question (by Salman Rushdie) about Faulkner is too good to resist repeating here:
I couldn’t think of a proper question, and so, in a sort of blurt, I uttered the words: “William Faulkner!”
She turned and looked at me benevolently. “Yes, dear,” she said. “What about him?”
What about him indeed, I thought, panicking a little. “On the whole,” I ended up asking, “would you say that he has been a help or a hindrance to you?”
“Well, dear, neither one,” she replied. “It’s like having a big mountain in the neighborhood. It’s very nice to know it’s there, but it doesn’t help you do your work.”
This was a fine reply, but I dared to ask one question more. “So do you not think of Faulkner as one of the writers who are closest to you?”
“Oh, no, dear,” she replied, affecting shock. “I’m from Jackson. He’s from Oxford. It’s miles away.”
I have reasons for this belief. The main one is that, whatever Faulkner’s strengths, he doesn’t have much of a sense of humor, so his pointed criticism of Southern society is unrelentingly harsh and cold. He lacks the ability to see not the merely bad but the laughable; this may come from a lack of affection for his characters.
Welty, on the other hand, always seems to have a bit of a chuckle in the background. She loves her Southern characters enough to laugh at them, to tease a bit, to see the unintentional comedy in their lives. And, in her ability to see this side of things, she actually is able to be more perceptive, more descriptive, more authentic, even. Her view is always from the inside, not outside.
This is the first novel of hers I have read, having previously read two of her short story collections, A Curtain of Green, and The Wide Net. The Optimist’s Daughter was her last novel, written in 1972. Okay, actually, it was first a short story, written in 1969, then substantially revised and expanded and published in 1972. The book won the Pulitzer Prize, which is why I chose it over Welty’s other novels. (I do intend to read the others, but thought I would start with this one.)
The Optimist’s Daughter is an examination of love and grief, class relations, the awkwardness of remarriage, and memory, among other things.
The main character in the novel is Laurel, the “optimist’s daughter.” The optimist is Judge McKelva, a well loved and respected Southern lawyer who combines his optimistic outlook on life with a kindness and sense of ethics which endear him even to those unhappy with his judicial decisions.
When the book opens, Laurel has returned from her life in Chicago to be with her father as he has an operation for a detached retina. For reasons that are not clear, he never manages to recover, and eventually dies, likely with the end accelerated by the actions of his second wife.
Ah yes, Wanda Fay, the second wife. She is younger than Laurel, and seems to have married the judge for his money after the two met at a bar conference. Laurel’s mother, Becky, had died some years earlier, leaving the judge and Laurel both bereft.
Fay is, let’s just say, a real piece of work. She is abrasive, selfish, clueless, selfish, jealous, selfish, and did I mention selfish? She is the definition of a narcissist, and, as most narcissists are, deeply lonely, pathetic, and unhappy. How bad is she? Well, when the judge is given his diagnosis, her response is “I don’t see why this had to happen to me.”
When it becomes clear to Laurel that her father is slowly fading, Fay responds by lashing out at him, revealing that she has cheated on him, and mostly wants his money. This appears to push him over the edge, and he dies soon thereafter.
Things go even crazier after that, though. The two of them have to travel with the body back to his small hometown, and then endure the very public wake and funeral. This includes, of course, not merely close friends, but most of the town.
But then, Major Bullock, longtime friend of the judge, manages to make things even more difficult. He has taken it on himself to locate and invite all of Fay’s family - who are pretty much white trash from Texas. They descend en masse on the wake, and bulldoze their way through any sense of propriety. I can’t even begin to describe all the stuff that goes down, but some of it is laugh out loud hilarious while also being beyond traumatic not just for Laurel, but particularly for Fay, who had previously claimed that all her family was dead - and probably wished they were.
Fay is persuaded to go back to Texas for the weekend with her family, leaving Laurel to sort through her memories of her parents before Fay returns to take possession of the house. In an ironic twist for everyone, Fay gets the house and its possessions, which mean nothing to her and a lot more to Laurel - and perhaps even more to the other residents of the town, who have always hated Fay. But Laurel gets the money, so Fay is stuck in a large house surrounded by people who hate her, a family who wants to open a boarding house there (!!), and not a single person she can call a friend.
Laurel is in many ways similar to Fay (although obviously not as vulgar or narcissistic), as she was widowed young, and lives alone in the big city. The divergence is clear, however. When Laurel returns, she finds friendship and affection in her old hometown, and even though she will not be staying, she finds a grounding in her memories and in the memories of others who knew and loved her father. Fay just manages to make her own sad life even more difficult.
The concept of “vision” is used as a metaphor throughout the book. Judge McKelva loses his vision before he dies. So did Becky, although in her case it was due to a brain tumor that also took her reason before she died. But Fay is and remains blind in the metaphorical sense throughout the book. Laurel has her eyes opened to both the past and the future. Curtains and blinds and light and vision are recurring elements, contributing to the metaphor.
There are so many remarkable passages in this book, which is fairly short. It packs so much into a small space, just like a great short story will. The way that Welty makes Fay into a somewhat sympathetic character, despite her obvious flaws and difficult personality is fascinating. Likewise, Fay’s vulgar family may be out of step with Southern gentility, but they genuinely seem to love Fay, even though she has rejected them. Again, this is why humor can serve as its own insight into character, and it is through the funny parts that Welty elicits the most pathos.
The sections where Laurel remembers the stories her parents told her of their own childhoods are likewise excellent. Unlike some flashbacks, which seem there just for background or explanation, the way Welty handles them, they shed genuine light on everything that comes before in the story, as well as everything that happens afterward. It is hard to explain, but there were many moments of “oh my, that explains things” throughout.
I didn’t write down much in the way of quotes, in part because the book is an organic whole, and most of the lines are brilliant in context, and don’t necessarily translate outside of it. There were a couple, however, that I thought were worth mentioning.
First is the description of the undertaker, whose obvious pride in his preparation of his corpses is one of the amusing moments.
Then a man stepped out from behind the green and presented a full, square face with its small features pulled to the center - what Laurel’s mother had called “a Baptist face.”
I guess we can add that to the short tie, big gut, and sciatica for our portrait of the Baptist deacon.
The other one happens after Major Bullock manages to give a series of stories about the late judge that are, to put it mildly, an exaggeration. Flattering exaggeration, but definitely exaggeration. A discussion ensues between Laurel, who is horrified, and Miss Adele, who sees things a bit differently.
“He never would have stood for lies being told about him. Not at any time. Not ever.”
“Yes he would,” said Miss Adele. “If the truth might hurt the wrong person.”
That’s fascinating, in no small part for its insight into how the judge was perceived - as a person concerned with avoiding hurt to others. His greatest optimism was, in essence, his optimism about other people, his desire to think the best of them.
I thought The Optimist’s Daughter was a real gem of a book, perfectly written, compelling, and thoughtful. I have loved everything I have read of Welty’s, and this one was no disappointment. Don’t be content to read Faulkner, and maybe a story by Flannery O’Connor, and leave it at that. Welty was one of the greats of American literature, and it is time she got her full due respect.
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