David Murdock Column: On floating down the stream of consciousness

There is an old technique in literature called “stream of consciousness.”  The basic idea comes from the field of psychology and was probably first theorized by William James (although I seem to remember that an earlier psychologist had, in fact, coined the phrase).  The best-known practitioners of the stream-of-consciousness style in American literature are T.S. Eliot and William Faulkner – both giants in the field.

Sometimes, I like it;  sometimes, I don’t.  Eliot’s poetry is difficult to read, and so is Faulkner’s prose.  When they get it right, though, it’s right.  Both writers are favorites of mine.  However, I had to read both writers over and over before I had even an idea of what they are saying.  Once I got it, it was genius.

On the other hand, sometimes stream of consciousness is just confusing, and there is no attraction in it for me.  That’s the case with the Irish writer James Joyce, whose masterpiece "Ulysses" is written in that style.  I’ve never been able to get past about 100 pages in that book, no matter how hard I try.

The basic idea behind literary stream of consciousness is to record the “stream” of thoughts the narrator is having at often mundane moments in his or her life, no matter how irrelevant those thoughts may seem.

Sometimes it’s simply perfect, like the description of the fistfight in the opening of Faulkner’s “Barn Burning.”  In a single paragraph, Faulkner describes what it’s like to actually be in a fight … without ever really saying that the protagonist is in a fistfight.  First-time readers often miss what’s going on.  I know I didn’t understand the situation until my second reading of the short story.

The reason that I like the technique so much is that it mirrors psychological reality.  Just yesterday, I had a stream-of-consciousness moment in conversation when someone mentioned penguins.  Penguins!  Before I knew it, I ended up telling the story of a refrigerator magnet in my kitchen.

How did I get there?  There had been an article over the weekend about penguins; the subject of penguins led to that 2005 documentary "March of the Penguins," narrated by Morgan Freeman; the mention of Freeman led to my telling the story of how my mother loved his movies; which led to the magnet on my fridge that reads “I wish Morgan Freeman narrated my life.”  Simple!

The thing about stream of consciousness is how obvious it is once attention has been called to it.  Everyone has string of associations with various experiences in life.  Of course, there are strong streams for me concerning books.  Just looking around my office, I can see hundreds of books.  Even if I can’t read the titles, I can usually “tell the story” of each book just from seeing its cover.

For example, I can see a book that is a history of the World War II airplane designated the OS2U Kingfisher, floatplane that flew from battleships and cruisers and used to spot enemy ships.  That’s not a WW II plane with which most are familiar.  I have the book because I’ve been utterly fascinated with that type since August 1977.

Mom and Dad took me to see the battleship U.S.S. Alabama in Mobile, and she flew Kingfishers from catapults at the stern of the ship.  There is a surviving example of the plane at Battleship Memorial Park.  While there, Dad bought me a model of the Kingfisher – which I wish I still had – and the rest is memory … or rather, a string of memories. For example, I also associate the Kingfisher with Elvis Presley, because Elvis died while we were on that trip.

That’s why I remember the month and year of that trip so easily.

My everyday life is full of such streams of consciousness, just like everyone else’s everyday life.  There are all sorts of things that prompt us to step into those streams of consciousness and sweep us along past all sorts of other, seemingly unrelated memories.  A WW II warplane reminds me of Elvis?  Sure!  Once I recall the sights seen floating down that stream of consciousness.

It also explains why we all have so many seemingly random memories.

Often in my journal, I try to track down those “randoms.”  Why does this thing remind me of that seemingly unrelated other thing?  Most of the time, the solution comes to me after a while … which is the joy of writing.  That’s why I keep a journal in the first place.

The problem with it, though, is the same with reading someone else’s stream of consciousness – if it’s not fully explained, it might not be clear.  Back to T.S. Eliot:  one of the problems with reading his poetry is that he sometimes makes references that don’t make a lot of sense on the first read … until much later.

In one of Eliot’s best known poems, the narrator, a middle-aged man named J. Alfred Prufrock, asks, “Do I dare to eat a peach?”  When I first read that poem at the age of 18, I had no idea what Prufrock meant.  Now I do.  He’s worried about having heartburn later, and that’s how mundane his life has become.  “Middle-aged Dave” gets it.

He’s floated down the stream of consciousness.

David Murdock is an English instructor at Gadsden State Community College. He can be contacted at murdockcolumn@yahoo.com. The opinions expressed are his own.       

This article originally appeared on The Gadsden Times: David Murdock on stream of consciousness and unrelated memories