Bertrand Russell advised in an essay, “How I Write,” to never use a long word when a short word will do. Faulkner’s uses long words in Light In August ( i.e. ”cinderstrewnpacked”); words that aren’t even words, per se, let alone long. Hemingway said of Faulkner's propensity for the long word, "Poor Faulkner. Does he really think big emotions come from big words?" Sometimes they do. Sometimes they can come in no other way.
These are frequently word compressions -- meaning separate words compressed together. For Faulkner, they can serve as indicative of place, a kind of substitute for dialect, without all the inherent problems with dialect. It is how we talk, ( i.e. “internetservice” ). Faulkner’s compressed words are usually comprised of short words (i.e. cinder -strewn- packed) that when shoved together mean something closer to intended meaning than when presented separately.
There are other reasons for word compressions ( i.e. contractions further compressed as non-contractions in the manner they are spoken). There are odd hyphenation of words, nonce words, and words whose meaning are the literary equivalent to Darwinian hybridization.
The technique also is an economical mimetic depiction of a gnarly philosophical perspective: Bergsonism. Using Russell’s definition of Bergson’s philosophy as “the doctrine of interpenetration, according to which things are not really separate, but are merely conceived so by the analytic intellect,” we can see a counterintuitive economy of word compression as not so terribly misaligned with Russell’s short v. long word suggestion. Faulkner also uses the same technique for symbolic and/or poetic extension to meaning of words. The technique aids unity without which Light In August would not be quite the same.
Lastly, while reading Light In August, these word compressions are far from obvious and sink into the background. Except for the more outrageous of these ( i.e. Augusttremulous, terracottafaced, etc.), most of the word compressions barely register.
Faulkner, William. Light in August. New York: Vintage, 1959.