Intruder in the Dust and Vintage Paperbacks: A Book Review

I love vintage falling apart paperback mysteries. The covers are so melodramatic and often tacky. The physical books do not stand the test of time, or the test of having their pages turned. Sometimes the pages fall from the binding before I can even finish reading the book the first time. 

I cannot resist. 

One of my favorites is William Faulkner’s Intruder in the Dust (1948). I have two 1962 Signet paperbacks -- the one with the author’s name in yellow across the top, a black and white illustration, the feet of a menacing crowd encircling two men, one kneeling. I also have two other editions of this unloved failed mystery. I even wrote about this book for my dissertation. Its mystery plot is so illogical and baffling; its treatment of race so troubled; its most annoying character so long-winded. 

On the front cover of my favorite 1962 editions, we read: ““The superb novel of murder and violence in a small southern town by one of America’s greatest writers.” And on the back, we are assured that this is the “explosive story of an arrogant old man who faced death rather than relinquish his identity… and a young boy who broke the law to save him” (ellipses in original). 

As you’re reading Intruder in the Dust, you’re probably wondering: Did I lose track of something that would make this all make sense? Critics relentlessly point this out, but: Isn’t that what people wonder when they read Light in August (1932) too? But Light in August is serious Faulkner, from his prime. Light in August may be more worth reading than Intruder in the Dust, but here’s the thing: I don’t actually care. 

People say Intruder in the Dust is terrible because the plot is terrible.

People, with ample justification, read Yoknapatawpha County’s Gavin Stevens, a lawyer, as Faulkner’s mouthpiece, which is awkward, because Gavin is wrong and in a way that aligns all too beautifully with Faulkner’s own argument in a piece published in Life magazine on March 5, 1956 as “A Letter to the North: William Faulkner, the South’s foremost writer, warns on integration—‘Stop now for a moment.’” 

And also: Just shut up Gavin Stevens. This guy really likes to talk, and it’s way too easy to get lost in his monologues. 

People say Intruder in the Dust is a pot boiler. They saw that cover and knew Faulkner needed money, and the book was popular. As Lawrence H. Schwartz puts it in Creating Faulkner’s Reputation: The Politics of Modern Literary Criticism, “In January 1948, Faulkner dropped work on the fable and began writing a short detective novel that he was sure he could complete. It was Intruder in the Dust. Faulkner finished the manuscript in April but wanted to delay in order to sell segments of the novel to magazines for additional income” (61). Yes, this bad mystery was written fast and it was written for money. It sold well and Faulkner got a $40,000 movie contract from MGM.

But here’s the thing: If you want to read a real Faulkner pot boiler, read Soldier’s Pay. 

I have a vintage copy, complete with a brooding man seated in the background and a beautiful woman with a pensive expression and a voluminous yet revealing pink garment in the foreground. 

I only have one copy of Soldier’s Pay.