10 Examples of Interior Monologue

In literature, is called Interior monologue to the narrative technique through which one seeks to capture in writing the flow of thoughts of a character, exposing both his emotions and her feelings. It is usually written in first person as a form of silent internal speech, and the syntax, the punctuation and the connection of ideas is usually found to be altered. For example: Ulises, by James Joyce.

There are two predominant forms in the interior monologue:

• direct way. Supports a partial point of view of one or more characters without intermediaries. For example: The Sound and the Fury, by William Faulkner.
• indirect way. Supports fragmentary vision with the intervention of an impersonal narrator who tells what happens in the minds of the characters. For example: Mrs Dalloway, by Virginia Woolf.

Also called "stream of consciousness," this type of monologue is an internal (unspoken) dialogue between a speaker self, the only character who speaks, and a receiving self, necessary to make what the speaker says meaningful first. The events from abroad that are narrated, both actions and

dialogues, are subsumed within the mental flow that develops in a pre-linguistic stage of consciousness. In addition, these pass into the background, since the facts of the interior are the ones that predominate, such as spontaneous reactions and external impressions.

• See also: monologues

Characteristics of the interior monologue

The interior monologue was born at the end of the 19th century, it was used for the first time by Édourd Dujardin in They have cut the laurels (1887) and found its peak in the first half of the 20th century, with works such as the Ulises by Joyce (1922). It is closely linked to the concept stream of consciousness (stream of consciousness), first defined in 1890 by American psychologist William James as the flow of images and impressions and of verbal thought that is not always presented in a articulated.

Some of the characteristics of the interior monologue are:

• Enter the statements of a single speaker.
• It has a high level of self-referentiality, with a predominance of deictic.
• use the time present to narrate, since it coincides with that of mental activity, which oscillates between reality and the possible; and between what is memory and project.
• Highlight internal events over external ones.
• Modifies chronological time in favor of psychological time, so the character moves from one topic to another.
• It partially exposes the speaker's consciousness, since it is impossible to capture all thoughts; rather, the focus is placed on representing certain ideas or sensations over others.
• It is usually written without points and apart, and with few discursive connectors to expose the uninterrupted flow of memories and thoughts.
• It has no recipient other than itself, that is, it is intended for an alter ego of the speaker himself.
• It brings the reader closer to the mind of the speaker and, therefore, to his point of view.

Examples of internal monologue

1. Excerpt from Molly Bloom's inner monologue in Ulises (1922) by James Joyce 

Or throw that big body out of there for the love of God listen to the winds that carry my sighs to you well well let the distinguished wise Don continue sleeping and sighing Poldo de la Flora, if she knew how it came out in the cards this morning, a dark-haired man with a certain perplexity would have something to sigh for between 2 7s also in jail because only God knows what he's doing I don't know and I'm going to have to mess around downstairs in the kitchen to get his lordship ready for breakfast while he's curled up like a mummy perhaps I'm going to do it, have you ever seen me running, I would like to see myself that way, you listen to them and they treat you like dirt, I don't care what anyone says, it would be much better if the world were ruled by the women in it you would not see women killing each other or annihilating each other when you have ever seen women stumbling drunk like they do or gambling every penny and losing it on the horses yes because a woman whatever she does knows where to stop sure they wouldn't be in the world otherwise It wasn't for us, they don't know what it's like to be a woman and a mother, how could they, where would they all be if they hadn't had a mother to take care of them, which I never had? That's why I guess he's going crazy now going out at night abandoning his books and his studies and not living at home because it's the typical house of play me roque well I guess it's a unfortunate pity that those who have a good son like that are not satisfied and I am none he was not able to make me one it was not my fault we got close when I was looking those two dogs above and behind in the middle of the street, you see, that completely discouraged me. I suppose I shouldn't have buried him with that little woolen jacket that I knitted for him. crying as I was but having given it to some poor child but I knew well that I would never have another one it was our death besides we weren't the same since then Or I'm not going to wear sad now about that...

1. Fragment of Benjy Compson's inner monologue in The noise and the fury (1929) by William Falkner 

We came back. "What do you have a head for?" said Mother. Now hold still, Versh said. She put the galoshes on me. «One day I will be missing and you will have to think for him.» Push, Versh said. "Come kiss your mother, Benjamin."
Caddy led me to Her Mother's chair and Her Mother took my face in her hands and then pulled me against her.
"My poor little boy." he said he. He released me. "Take good care of him Versh and you, honey."
"Yes ma'am." Cady said. We went out. Cady said,
"You don't have to come, Versh. I'll take care of him for a while."
"Well." Versh said. "Why am I going out for no reason in this cold?" He walked on and we stopped in the hall and Caddy knelt down and put her arms around me and her cold shining face against mine. She smelled like the trees.
«You are not a poor thing. What not? You have Caddy. Why do you have your Caddy?
It's just that he can't stop jimpling and drooling, said Luster. He's not ashamed to make this mess. We passed by the garage, where the barouche was. He had a new wheel.
"Now go inside and stay still until his mother comes." Dilsey said. She pushed me onto the barouche. T.P. held the reins. I don't know why Jason doesn't buy another car. Dilsey said. «Because this one is going to be shattered the least expected day. Look at those wheels.»
Mother came out, lowering her veil. He was carrying some flowers.

1. Fragment of Addie Bundren's inner monologue in While I agonize (1930) by William Falkner 

I remember my father always said that the reason for living was to prepare to be dead for a long time. And since I had to look at them day after day, each one with his secret and his egotistical thought, and with the blood foreign to the blood of the other and the mine, and I thought that it seemed that this was the only way for me to prepare myself to be dead, I hated my father for having had the idea of beget me She couldn't wait for them to commit a foul so she could whip them. When the whip fell I felt it in my flesh; when he opened and lacerated what flowed was my blood, and with each lash I thought: Now you find out that I exist! I am already something in your secret and selfish life, now that I have marked your blood with my blood forever...

1. Fragment of Luis' interior monologue in Waves (1930), by Virginia Woolf 

Everyone has already left, Luis said. I have been left alone. They have returned to the house to have breakfast and I am left alone at the foot of the wall, in the middle of the flowers. It is very early and the lessons will not start yet. In the midst of the green depths appear spots of flowers. Its petals resemble harlequins. The stems emerge from between black holes, from the earth. The flowers swim like fish of light over the dark green waters. I have a stalk in my hand. I myself am a stem and my roots reach into the depths of the world, through the dry brick earth and through the damp earth, through veins of lead and silver. My body is but a single fiber. All the jolts affect me and I feel the weight of the earth against my sides. Under my forehead, my eyes are blind green leaves. Here I am but a boy dressed in a gray flannel suit and I have a leather belt with a copper buckle representing a snake. But down there, my eyes are the lidless eyes of a granite figure in a desert by the Nile. I see women heading with red pitchers towards the river; I see camels, swaying, and men in turbans. Around me, I perceive the noise of footsteps, tremors, agitations...

1. Fragment of Clarissa's internal monologue in Mrs. Dalloway (1925), by Virginia Woolf 

After living in Westminster, how many years had I been there now? More than twenty, one feels, even in traffic, or waking up in the night, and from that Clarissa was very certain, a special silence or a solemnity, an indescribable pause, a suspension (although this was perhaps due to her heart, affected, according to her). they were saying; by the flu), before the chimes of Big Ben. Now! Now it sounded solemn. First a notice, musical; then the hour, irrevocable. The lead circles dissolved in the air. As he crossed Victoria Street, she thought what fools we are. Yes, because only God knows why we love her so much, because we see her like this, creating herself, building herself around one of her, turning around, being reborn again at every moment; but the most hideous harpies, the most miserable women sitting before the doorways (drinking her fall) do the same; and he was absolutely certain that the laws passed by Parliament were of no use to these women, for the same reason: they loved life. In the eyes of the people, in the coming and going and the hustle and bustle; in the shouting and the buzzing; the carriages, the automobiles, the buses, the trucks, the billboard men shuffling and swaying; the wind bands; the barrel organs; in the triumph, in the chime, and in the high strange song of an airplane overhead, was what she loved: life, London, this moment in June.

1. Fragment of Pedro's interior monologue in Time of silence (1962), by Luis Martin-Santos

If I can't find a taxi, I won't arrive. Who would be Prince Pio? Prince, prince, beginning of the end, beginning of evil. I'm already at the beginning, it's over, I'm done and I'm leaving. I'm going to start something else. I can't finish what I started. Cab! What difference does it make? The one who sees me like this. Well, what to me? Matías, what Matías or what. How am I going to find a taxi? There are no real friends. Goodbye friends. Cab! At last. To Prince Pio. That's where I started too. I arrived through Príncipe Pío, I'm leaving through Príncipe Pío. I came alone, I'm leaving alone. I arrived without money, I leave without... What a beautiful day, what a beautiful sky! It's not cold yet. That woman! It seems like it was, for a moment, I'm obsessed. Of course, she is the same as the other one too. Why is it, how is it that I now don't know how to distinguish between the one and the other dead, placed one on top of the other in the same hole: also this autopsy. What will they want to know? So much autopsy; Why, if they don't see anything. They do not know why they open them: a myth, a superstition, a collection of corpses, they believe that there is a virtue inside, animists, they are looking for a secret and in On the other hand, they don't let us look for those of us who could find something, but what's up, what for, she already told me that I wasn't gifted and maybe not, she's right, I'm not gifted. The impression it made on me. Always thinking of women. For the women. If I had dedicated myself only to rats. But what was I going to do? What did I have to do? If things are arranged like this. There is nothing to modify.

1. Fragment of Daniel Princ's interior monologue in They have cut the laurels (1887), by Edouard Dujardin 

…I feel like I'm falling asleep; My eyes close... here is her body, her chest that rises and rises; and the so soft mixed perfume... the beautiful night of April... in a while we will walk... the fresh air... we will leave... in a while... the two candles... there... along the boulevards... 'I love you more than my lambs'… I love you more… that girl, cheeky eyes, fragile, red lips… the room… the tall fireplace… the living room… my father… the three of us sitting, my father, my mother… me… why is my mother pale? He looks at me... let's have dinner, yes, in the grove... the maid... bring the table... Lea... sets the table... my father... the porter... a letter... a letter from her... thank you... a ripple, a rumor, a sunrise… and she, forever the only one, the first beloved, Antonia…everything shines…is she laughing?…the gas lamps line up to infinity…oh!…the night…cold and icy, the night…Ah, slight scare! what's wrong... they push me, they shake me, they kill me... Nothing... nothing's wrong... the room... Lea... córcholis... have I fallen asleep...
"Congratulations, dear." It's Lea. Well, how did you sleep? It's Lea, standing up, and laughing. Feel better?…

1. Fragment of Colin Smith's inner monologue in The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner (1959), by Alan Sillitoe

So here I am, standing in the doorway in a T-shirt and shorts, not even a dry crumb of bread warming my tummy, staring intently at the frost-covered flowers growing outside. I guess you think that image would be enough to make me cry. Well, nothing of that. Just because I feel like the first guy to walk the earth I'm not going to start bawling. It makes me feel a thousand times better than when I'm caged in that bedroom with three hundred other wretches like me. No, when I don't handle it that well it's only sometimes that I'm out there considering myself the last man on earth. I think of myself as the last man on earth because I think that those other three hundred slackers that I leave behind are already dead. They sleep so soundly I think all those ragged heads have slapped her in the night and it's just me, and when I look at the bushes and frozen ponds I have the feeling that it is going to get colder and colder until everything I see, including my own reddened arms, is covered in a thousand kilometers of ice; everything around me, the whole earth, up to the sky, including every bit of land and sea. So I try to push that feeling away from me and act like he's the first man on earth. And that makes me feel good, so as soon as I'm warm enough for this feeling to wash over me, I jump through the doorway and off I go jogging.

1. Fragment of the interior monologue of "Macario" in The Burning Plain (1953), by Juan Rulfo 

I'm sitting by the gutter waiting for the frogs to come out. Last night, while we were having dinner, they started making a big racket and didn't stop singing until dawn. My godmother also says that: that the screaming of the frogs scared her off sleep. And now she would like to sleep. That's why she told me to sit here, next to the sewer, and she put me with a board in my hand so that whatever If the frog were to jump outside, he would slap it with his boards... Frogs are green from all to all, except on the top. belly. Toads are black. My godmother's eyes are also black. Frogs are good to eat with. Toads are not eaten; but I have eaten them too, although they are not eaten, and they taste just like frogs. Felipa is the one who says that it is bad to eat toads. Felipa has green eyes like the eyes of cats. She is the one who feeds me in the kitchen every time she has me eat. She does not want me harm frogs. But despite all this, it is my godmother who orders me to do things… I love Felipa more than my godmother. But it's my godmother who takes the money from her bag so that Felipa buys everything from the kitchen. Felipa is only in the kitchen fixing the food for the three of them. She hasn't done anything else since I've known her. Washing the dishes is on me. Carrying firewood to light the stove is also my turn. Then it is my godmother who distributes the food to us.

1. Fragment of the interior monologue from "It's that we are very poor" by The Burning Plain (1953), by Juan Rulfo

Here everything goes from bad to worse. Last week my aunt Jacinta died, and on Saturday, when we had already buried her and her sadness was beginning to subside, it began to rain like never before. This gave my dad courage, because the entire barley crop was sunning itself in the solar. And the downpour came suddenly, in great waves of water, without even giving us time to hide even a handful; The only thing that we, all of my household, could do was huddle under the shed, watching how the cold water that fell from the sky burned that yellow barley so recently cut.
And just yesterday, when my sister Tacha had just turned twelve, we found out that the cow my dad gave her The river had taken her away on her saint's day. The river began to rise three nights ago, around early morning. I was very sleepy, and yet the roar that the river brought as it dragged me woke me up immediately and jumping out of bed with my blanket in hand, as if I had thought the ceiling of my room was collapsing. home. But later I went back to sleep, because I recognized the sound of the river and because that sound continued to do the same until it brought me sleep again.

Follow with:

• Children's rights monologue
• monologue about friendship
• Elements of the narrative
• monologue about love
• monologue about life

Interactive test to practice

References

• Encyclopædia Britannica Online (2009). "Interior monologue". Available in: https://www.britannica.com
• Martinez, P. (1973). “Witness-listener technique in Rulfo's monologues”. Annals of Hispanic American Literature, 2, 555. Available in: https://revistas.ucm.es
• Palomo Berjara, V. (2010). “The interior monologue of two modernist fragments: The Waves and Ulysses”. Form: revista d'estudis comparatius: art, literature, thought,. 2, 2010, pp. 95-104.
• Rest, Jamie. 1979. modern literature concepts. Available in: https://panoramadelaliteratura2018.files.wordpress.com