Sho

I’ve always thought that William Faulkner has an uncanny ear for the rhythms and patterns of Southern speech. But he doesn’t do it (as Mark Twain does it) with “dialect spelling;” he trusts the language to carry itself.

One noteworthy exception is the N-word for African Americans (Faulkner wrote before “black”). Most of the time, Faulkner says “Negro” (which, I assume, most of his characters would have pronounced “Nigrah.”). Sometimes he says “Nigger.” I don’t think this happens by accident: I think Faulkner is very particular about when his characters say which.

Another possible exception is the word that Faulkner rights as “sho.” This is a word that looks like “sure,” as in “yes, certainly.” But I call it only a possible exception, because in context, I am not at all sure that “sho” does mean “sure.” Rather, read in context, you can hear the word taking on a subtle and complex network of meanings that tell you a lot about the characters and the world they live in. Here are some examples from the opening pages of Light in August, the current readaloud selection at the Buce library, together with suggested translations:

“I reckon I got a few days left.”

“Sho.” (15) [Lady, you’ve got a peck of trouble ahead, but I am not going to aggravate the issue by rubbing your nose in it.]

I wouldn’t be beholden,” she says. “I wouldn’t trouble.”

“Sho.” (Id.) [In fact, you will be trouble, but I will not embarrass you by saying so.]

“I’d sho by that cultivator at that figure. If you don’t buy it, I be dog if I aint a good mind to buy it, myself, at that price. I reckon the fellow that owns it aint got a span of mules to sell for about five dollars has he?”

“Sho.” (11) [You’re baiting me now, but I won’t take the bait—and note the earlier “sho,” meaning (for once) just “certainly.”]

“You’ll have to say goodbye to her for me. I had hopened to see her myself, but …..”

“Sho.” (25) [It’s lucky for you she is not here.]

“It’s been right kind,” she said.

“Sho.” (Id.) [Thank you.]

As it happens, all these examples come from the speech of Henry Armistead, the kindly farmer who comes to the aid of Lena in her distress. But Henry is not the only one who says "sho." Talking about the mysterious Brown who gads about like “a worthless horse,” Byron says “But I reckon maybe the mares like him.” Mooney the foreman responds “Sho,” as in “Ha! I’ll bet he’s got girls in trouble all over North Mississippi!” (40) And on the next page, Mooney himself says “sho,” when he means “you’re probably right.” (41)

There is so much going on here—such a network of overlapping meanings. There is a kind of civility and tact, or at any rate disposition to sidestep conflict, but also a thread of irony, sometimes bitter, almost always stoic. Someone (Cleanth Brooks?) has argued that Faulkner characters are passive, witnessing and accepting the world and not doing much about it. This is true in its way, but most of them are also dirt-poor, uneducated and unskilled, not knowing how to do much except to bear with dignity. It’s a tough like. It’s not going well, and it won’t end well. But there is no point in making a fuss over things you can’t change. Sho.

Page refs are to the Vintage Books paperback edition, 1987.