O Lost: Wolfe's Angel and The Buried Life
Wolfe's father, W.O. Wolfe, was reputed to be a reprobate and drunkard, but a master stone-cutter. His masterpiece was this monument, which stands in Oakdale Cemetary in Hendersonville. Young Thomas watched his father carve it in 1905.
Here's how Wolfe described the angel in the novel:
...by the door, he put the heavy simpering figurine of an angel...it had come from Carrara in Italy, and it held a stone lily delicately in one hand. The other hand was lifted in benediction, it was poised clumsily upon the ball of one phthisic foot, and its stupid white face wore a smile of soft stone idiocy.
. . . a stone, a leaf, an unfound door; of a stone, a leaf, a door. And of all the forgotten faces. Naked and alone we came into exile. In her dark womb we did not know our mother's face; from the prison of her flesh have we come into the unspeakable and incommunicable prison of this earth. Which of us has known his brother? Which of us has looked into his father's heart? Which of us has not remained forever prison-pent? Which of us is not forever a
Labels: Jeff Hual, Literature, Suffering

3 Comments:
Jeff, I loved this. The imagery is profound in the latter quote! Wow. Much to contemplate...
So beautiful. Thank you Jeff.
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