Print List Price:	$18.00
Kindle Price:	$0.99 Save $17.01 (95%)
Sold by:	Amazon.com Services LLC

Promotions apply when you purchase

Add an

audiobook with Audible narration for $4.49

Audiobook Price: $29.66

Save: $25.17 (85%)

Read with our free app

You've subscribed to ! We will preorder your items within 24 hours of when they become available. When new books are released, we'll charge your default payment method for the lowest price available during the pre-order period.

Update your device or payment method, cancel individual pre-orders or your subscription at
Your Memberships & Subscriptions

There was an error. We were unable to process your subscription due to an error. Please refresh and try again.

Follow the author

William Faulkner

Follow

Light in August (DF Modern Classics) Kindle Edition

by William Faulkner (Author), Digital Fire (Editor) Format: Kindle Edition

4.2 1,274 ratings

See all formats and editions

First published in 1932, ‘Light in August’ is a novel that contrasts stark tragedy with optimistic perseverance in the face of mortality, written by William Faulkner, a Nobel Prize-winning American author. One of the most influential writers of the 20th century, Faulkner’s reputation is based on his novels, novellas, and short stories. He was also a published poet and an occasional screenwriter.
The novel is set in the American South during prohibition and features an ensemble cast of Faulkner’s most memorable characters: honest and brave Lena Grove, in search of the father of her unborn child; Reverend Gail Hightower, a lonely outcast haunted by visions of Confederate glory; and Joe Christmas, a desperate, enigmatic drifter consumed by his mixed ancestry. These characters tussle with alienation, racism, and heartbreak across a nonlinear narrative. Classified as a Southern gothic and modernist novel, it is considered a seminal work in 20th-century American literature.

Print length

530 pages
Language

English
Sticky notes

On Kindle Scribe
Publisher

DIGITAL FIRE
Publication date

March 25, 2022
File size

2283 KB
Page Flip

Enabled
Word Wise

Enabled
Enhanced typesetting

Enabled
See all details

Report an issue with this product or seller

William Faulkner
4,034
Kindle Edition
1 offer from $0.49
William Faulkner
211
Kindle Edition
1 offer from $0.99
William Faulkner
1,354
Kindle Edition
1 offer from $0.99
William Faulkner
419
Kindle Edition
1 offer from $1.99
William Faulkner
2,547
Kindle Edition
1 offer from $12.99
William Faulkner
729
Kindle Edition
1 offer from $1.99

Editorial Reviews

Review

"For all his concern with the South, Faulkner was actually seeking out the nature of man. Thus we must turn to him for that continuity of moral purpose which made for the greatness of our classics." --Ralph Ellison --This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

1

Sitting beside the road, watching the wagon mount the hill toward her, Lena thinks, ‘I have come from Alabama: a fur piece. All the way from Alabama a-walking. A fur piece.’ Thinking although I have not been quite a month on the road I am already in Mississippi, further from home than I have ever been before. I am now further from Doane’s Mill than I have been since I was twelve years old

She had never even been to Doane’s Mill until after her father and mother died, though six or eight times a year she went to town on Saturday, in the wagon, in a mailorder dress and her bare feet flat in the wagon bed and her shoes wrapped in a piece of paper beside her on the seat. She would put on the shoes just before the wagon reached town. After she got to be a big girl she would ask her father to stop the wagon at the edge of town and she would get down and walk. She would not tell her father why she wanted to walk in instead of riding. He thought that it was because of the smooth streets, the sidewalks. But it was because she believed that the people who saw her and whom she passed on foot would believe that she lived in the town too.

When she was twelve years old her father and mother died in the same summer, in a log house of three rooms and a hall, without screens, in a room lighted by a bugswirled kerosene lamp, the naked floor worn smooth as old silver by naked feet. She was the youngest living child. Her mother died first. She said, “Take care of paw.” Lena did so. Then one day her father said, “You go to Doane’s Mill with McKinley. You get ready to go, be ready when he comes.” Then he died. McKinley, the brother, arrived in a wagon. They buried the father in a grove behind a country church one afternoon, with a pine headstone. The next morning she departed forever, though it is possible that she did not know this at the time, in the wagon with McKinley, for Doane’s Mill. The wagon was borrowed and the brother had promised to return it by nightfall.

The brother worked in the mill. All the men in the village worked in the mill or for it. It was cutting pine. It had been there seven years and in seven years more it would destroy all the timber within its reach. Then some of the machinery and most of the men who ran it and existed because of and for it would be loaded onto freight cars and moved away. But some of the machinery would be left, since new pieces could always be bought on the installment plan—gaunt, staring, motionless wheels rising from mounds of brick rubble and ragged weeds with a quality profoundly astonishing, and gutted boilers lifting their rusting and unsmoking stacks with an air stubborn, baffled and bemused upon a stumppocked scene of profound and peaceful desolation, unplowed, untilled, gutting slowly into red and choked ravines beneath the long quiet rains of autumn and the galloping fury of vernal equinoxes. Then the hamlet which at its best day had borne no name listed on Postoffice Department annals would not now even be remembered by the hookwormridden heirs at large who pulled the buildings down and burned them in cookstoves and winter grates.

There were perhaps five families there when Lena arrived. There was a track and a station, and once a day a mixed train fled shrieking through it. The train could be stopped with a red flag, but by ordinary it appeared out of the devastated hills with apparitionlike suddenness and wailing like a banshee, athwart and past that little less-than-village like a forgotten bead from a broken string. The brother was twenty years her senior. She hardly remembered him at all when she came to live with him. He lived in a four room and unpainted house with his labor- and childridden wife. For almost half of every year the sister-in-law was either lying in or recovering. During this time Lena did all the housework and took care of the other children. Later she told herself, ‘I reckon that’s why I got one so quick myself.’

She slept in a leanto room at the back of the house. It had a window which she learned to open and close again in the dark without making a sound, even though there also slept in the leanto room at first her oldest nephew and then the two oldest and then the three. She had lived there eight years before she opened the window for the first time. She had not opened it a dozen times hardly before she discovered that she should not have opened it at all. She said to herself, ‘That’s just my luck.’

The sister-in-law told the brother. Then he remarked her changing shape, which he should have noticed some time before. He was a hard man. Softness and gentleness and youth (he was just forty) and almost everything else except a kind of stubborn and despairing fortitude and the bleak heritage of his bloodpride had been sweated out of him. He called her whore. He accused the right man (young bachelors, or sawdust Casanovas anyway, were even fewer in number than families) but she would not admit it, though the man had departed six months ago. She just repeated stubbornly, “He’s going to send for me. He said he would send for me”; unshakable, sheeplike, having drawn upon that reserve of patient and steadfast fidelity upon which the Lucas Burches depend and trust, even though they do not intend to be present when the need for it arises. Two weeks later she climbed again through the window. It was a little difficult, this time. ‘If it had been this hard to do before, I reckon I would not be doing it now,’ she thought. She could have departed by the door, by daylight. Nobody would have stopped her. Perhaps she knew that. But she chose to go by night, and through the window. She carried a palm leaf fan and a small bundle tied neatly in a bandanna handkerchief. It contained among other things thirtyfive cents in nickels and dimes. Her shoes were a pair of his own which her brother had given to her. They were but slightly worn, since in the summer neither of them wore shoes at all. When she felt the dust of the road beneath her feet she removed the shoes and carried them in her hand.

She has been doing that now for almost four weeks. Behind her the four weeks, the evocation of far is a peaceful corridor paved with unflagging and tranquil faith and peopled with kind and nameless faces and voices: Lucas Burch? I dont know. I dont know of anybody by that name around here. This road? It goes to Pocahontas. He might be there. It’s possible. Here’s a wagon that’s going a piece of the way. It will take you that far; backrolling now behind her a long monotonous succession of peaceful and undeviating changes from day to dark and dark to day again, through which she advanced in identical and anonymous and deliberate wagons as though through a succession of creakwheeled and limpeared avatars, like something moving forever and without progress across an urn.

The wagon mounts the hill toward her. She passed it about a mile back down the road. It was standing beside the road, the mules asleep in the traces and their heads pointed in the direction in which she walked. She saw it and she saw the two men squatting beside a barn beyond the fence. She looked at the wagon and the men once: a single glance allembracing, swift, innocent and profound. She did not stop; very likely the men beyond the fence had not seen her even look at the wagon nor at them. Neither did she look back. She went on out of sight, walking slowly, the shoes unlaced about her ankles, until she reached the top of the hill a mile beyond. Then she sat down on the ditchbank, with her feet in the shallow ditch, and removed the shoes. After a while she began to hear the wagon. She heard it for some time. Then it came into sight, mounting the hill.

The sharp and brittle crack and clatter of its weathered and ungreased wood and metal is slow and terrific: a series of dry sluggish reports carrying for a half mile across the hot still pinewiney silence of the August afternoon. Though the mules plod in a steady and unflagging hypnosis, the vehicle does not seem to progress. It seems to hang suspended in the middle distance forever and forever, so infinitesimal is its progress, like a shabby bead upon the mild red string of road. So much so is this that in the watching of it the eye loses it as sight and sense drowsily merge and blend, like the road itself, with all the peaceful and monotonous changes between darkness and day, like already measured thread being rewound onto a spool. So that at last, as though out of some trivial and unimportant region beyond even distance, the sound of it seems to come slow and terrific and without meaning, as though it were a ghost travelling a half mile ahead of its own shape. ‘That far within my hearing before my seeing,’ Lena thinks. She thinks of herself as already moving, riding again, thinking Then it will be as if I were riding for a half mile before I even got into the wagon, before the wagon even got to where I was waiting, and that when the wagon is empty of me again it will go on for a half mile with me still in it She waits, not even watching the wagon now, while thinking goes idle and swift and smooth, filled with nameless kind faces and voices: Lucas Burch? You say you tried in Pocahontas? This road? It goes to Springvale. You wait here. There will be a wagon passing soon that will take you as far as it goes Thinking, ‘And if he is going all the way to Jefferson, I will be riding within the hearing of Lucas Burch before his seeing. He will hear the wagon, but he wont know. So there will be one within his hearing before his seeing. And then he will see me and he will be excited. And so there will be two within his seeing before his remembering.’ --This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.

Product details

ASIN ‏ : ‎ B09WJ5SXSR
Publisher ‏ : ‎ DIGITAL FIRE; 1st edition (March 25, 2022)
Publication date ‏ : ‎ March 25, 2022
Language ‏ : ‎ English
File size ‏ : ‎ 2283 KB
Text-to-Speech ‏ : ‎ Enabled
Screen Reader ‏ : ‎ Supported
Enhanced typesetting ‏ : ‎ Enabled
X-Ray ‏ : ‎ Not Enabled
Word Wise ‏ : ‎ Enabled
Sticky notes ‏ : ‎ On Kindle Scribe
Print length ‏ : ‎ 530 pages
Page numbers source ISBN ‏ : ‎ 0679732268

Best Sellers Rank: #99,905 in Kindle Store (See Top 100 in Kindle Store)
- #246 in Classic Literary Fiction
- #2,662 in Classic Literature & Fiction
- #6,324 in Literary Fiction (Books)

Customer Reviews:
4.2 1,274 ratings

Brief content visible, double tap to read full content.

Full content visible, double tap to read brief content.

Videos

Help others learn more about this product by uploading a video!

Upload your video

About the author

Follow authors to get new release updates, plus improved recommendations.

William Faulkner

Brief content visible, double tap to read full content.

Full content visible, double tap to read brief content.

Born in 1897 in New Albany, Mississippi, William Faulkner was the son of a family proud of their prominent role in the history of the south. He grew up in Oxford, Mississippi, and left high school at fifteen to work in his grandfather's bank.

Rejected by the US military in 1915, he joined the Canadian flyers with the RAF, but was still in training when the war ended. Returning home, he studied at the University of Mississippi and visited Europe briefly in 1925.

His first poem was published in The New Republic in 1919. His first book of verse and early novels followed, but his major work began with the publication of The Sound and the Fury in 1929. As I Lay Dying (1930), Sanctuary (1931), Light in August (1932), Absalom, Absalom! (1936) and The Wild Palms (1939) are the key works of his great creative period leading up to Intruder in the Dust (1948). During the 1930s, he worked in Hollywood on film scripts, notably The Blue Lamp, co-written with Raymond Chandler.

William Faulkner was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1949 and the Pulitzer Prize for The Reivers just before his death in July 1962.

Photo by Carl Van Vechten [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Customer reviews

4.2 out of 5

1,274 global ratings

How customer reviews and ratings work

Reviews with images

See all photos

Sort reviews by

Top reviews from the United States

There was a problem filtering reviews right now. Please try again later.

Ernest Ohlmeyer

A gripping tale of human alienation, despair, and hope

Reviewed in the United States on June 1, 2022

Verified Purchase

Let me say at the outset that this is a very impressive novel. Probably not surprising given Faulkner's reputation. Unlike some of his other works, this does not rely heavily on "stream-of-consciousness" techniques and is written in a more straightforward manner. Still, the structure is very complex, involving up to a half dozen main characters, with flashbacks and hints of future events that are only revealed later. Most, but not all, of the characters are alienated, isolated from society, and highly conflicted. These include Joe Christmas, a man haunted by his origins and confused about his racial identity. He can easily pass for white but may in fact be part black. This uncertainty obsesses him and takes him on a self-destructive odyssey, ending in murder.
His victim is Joanna Burden, a Northerner transplanted to the Mississippi town of Jefferson, who is ostracized by the community for her pro-black, anti-slavery views. Joanna is also a victim of her upbringing that instilled in her a strong New England puritanism. Joe and Joanna commence an affair that passes through various stages that include Joanna releasing her repressed sexuality and later reverting to religious zeal where she tries to convert Joe. Joe is so antagonistic to both her sexual and religious overtures that he is driven to murder her.
Another key character is the Rev. Gail Hightower. He is a former pastor in Jefferson who is driven from his post due to scandal involving his wife's adultery and suicide. Hightower, who continues to reside as a recluse in Jefferson, is also possessed by his own demons from a malformed childhood and an obsession with the Civil War valor of his grandfather. This leads him into nightly reveries involving the thunder of horses hooves and his grandfather's last cavalry charge.
Wrapped around all this is the story of Lena Grove and Byron Bunch. Lena is a simple soul who is 9-months pregnant and hitchhikes to Jefferson in search of the man who impregnated and then abandoned her. Those who encounter her offer help and compassion. Byron is a non-complicated, hard-working citizen of Jefferson who never asserts himself, but who falls in love with Lena at first sight. Byron helps Lena try to find her seducer, but secretly attempts to woo her. Unlike the other characters, Lena and Byron are not alienated from society. They represent an anchor of sanity and decent behavior amid the chaos and machinations of the other main characters.
The crisis of the story involves the flight of Joe Christmas and what eventually happens to him. Hightower, who is pulled into to trying to help Joe, is offered the chance to encounter reality again and pull himself from his self isolation and hallucinations. The novel reveals whether he succeeds or not. Byron pursues Lena as they leave town and there is the suggestion that they may come together eventually.
This is a highly complex study of damaged humans, their obsessions and violent potential, the consequences of alienation and separation from human society, the tragic effects of racial prejudice and antagonisms, small town backwardness and hostility, and the underlying optimism of human love. I rank it as one of Faulkner's best and highly recommend it.
I read this book in conjunction with Reading Faulkner: Light in August, Glossary and Commentary by Hugh Ruppersburg. It proved invaluable in deciphering many of the complexities both in language and structure that the novel contained.

25 people found this helpful

Helpful

Kent Nelson

A Fur Piece

Reviewed in the United States on October 4, 2021

Verified Purchase

I've been on this Faulkner journey of late, this is the eight novel on that road and I've come a "fur piece", as lena Grove would say. (I've read 11 of the 14 Yoknapatawpha County, but three we long ago and they are next on my list to re-read).

Light in August, like The Reivers and The Unvanquished (where I began), is more accessible to the new Faulkner reader than most of his other works, so it makes sense that many reviewers suggest starting here. I still maintain beginning at The Unvanquished as it is accessible, broken into parts and provides a good foundation for reading the rest of the novels of the county while still displaying the author's magic. He can put a picture inside your head and a bring a character to life in the first few words of introduction. Light in August has these characteristics as well; Faulkner couldn't help himself.

It's been difficult for many a reader a reviewer down the years to bring the different characters and story lines together. What does Joe Christmas, Lena Grove, Gail Hightower, Johanna Burden and Byron Bunch have to do with each other?

They are all outcasts and that's the glue that keeps this plot together. The only one who isn't punished for being an outcast, except what he puts on himself, is Byron. And of course, Lena seems immune to even noticing if people are anything but "right kind".

Christmas is the draw. He's supposedly got Negro blood in him and as such he doesn't fit anywhere. He can pass for white and would prefer that, but he knows he doesn't really belong there either. Not to mention the abuse he suffers at the hands of his adoptive father and the kind of hellfire southern Calvinism that Faulkner obviously disliked and want to say something about. In a community of church music on Sunday nights these same people have rejected our outcasts; two of whom for racist reasons. It was 1932 in the south after all.

What may get overlooked if you're not familiar with the Bible, particularly the New Testament, is how many corollaries there are for Joe Christmas (JC) - his wondering, rejections by his own people (Negro, in this case), his temptation by Burden to enter a kind of upper middle class, his wandering. It's not all perfectly mirrored but it's there.

I don't think Faulkner was aiming as blasphemy here; I think what he wanted to show was the community as a character and highlight the problems when that community acts as one toward the outcasts.

My criticisms are just a few: the coincidence of Christmas showing up in a town he's never been in that happens to be inhabited by two characters connected to his past (I'll say no more); and chapter 20 (the second to last) which was very much an information dump on Hightower with things that could have been sprinkled in other places. I felt like I could almost skip that entire chapter.

All in all this more a straight novel than any I've read besides The Reivers.

6 people found this helpful

Helpful

Top reviews from other countries

Translate all reviews to English

Daniela Pérez

Una novela clásica

Reviewed in Mexico on June 16, 2021

Verified Purchase

Me encantó la edición que me llegó y que no tardara mucho en llegar hasta mi puerta. La portada es de cierta textura que me gustó y la portada se me hizo muy linda. Ya la historia es otra cosa. Sé que esta es una de las cuatro novelas más importantes del autor, pero admito que hubo detalles que no me gustaron, como que se despegara de la historia inicial para profundizar en la historia del personaje secundario. Claro, hubo detalles interesantes de ese segundo relato, pero eso hizo que la lectura fuera más difícil y pesada.

Translate review to English

Client d'Amazon

Conforme

Reviewed in France on July 13, 2023

Verified Purchase

Correspondait à la demande

Translate review to English

Farsan P.

Tolle Lektüre

Reviewed in Germany on April 13, 2021

Verified Purchase

Mit diesem Stück amerikanischer Literatur, bekommt mein einen sehr guten Einblick in die entsprechende Zeit und Kultur.

Translate review to English

Amy Jackson

exactly as described

Reviewed in Canada on October 18, 2018

Verified Purchase

great for what I need it for

Sethu Manakat

Must read book

Reviewed in India on March 26, 2019

Verified Purchase

I haven’t read much Faulkner’s and when I started reading this first thought come to my head was how I missed a great author like him. It is a classic in which one can have the vision of depthless human mind

Buy for others

Buying and sending eBooks to others

Image Unavailable

Follow the author

Light in August (DF Modern Classics) Kindle Edition

Customers who viewed this item also viewed

Editorial Reviews

Review

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

About the Author

From the Back Cover

From the Inside Flap

Product details

Videos

About the author

William Faulkner

Customer reviews

Reviews with images

Top reviews from the United States

There was a problem filtering reviews right now. Please try again later.

Top reviews from other countries