Southern
Writers
“Whenever
I'm asked why Southern writers particularly have a penchant for
writing about freaks, I say it is because we are still able to
recognize one.”
Flannery
O'Connor
From William Faulkner to
Pat Conroy and Rick Bragg, Southern writers tell tales of the world's
nuttiest people. Maybe it's the intense heat; the steam coming off
the sidewalks fries the brains of ordinary Southerners and turns them
into drunken zombies. Maybe it's the air, so laden with the scent of
magnolia, jasmine, and gardenia that it suffocates, causing hypoxia
and outright freakishness. Whatever the cause, there are so many
stories here that you will never hear anywhere else. A good example
is one I heard last night about a cat funeral. This funeral involved
a frozen cat, (frozen by the Veterinarian for safe keeping), a
celebration of its long life (eighteen years), burial prayers and
blessings, followed by a picnic on the grounds that included fried
chicken and watermelon. Little children and neighbors came by and
offered their condolences and ate a bite. It was, by all accounts, a
lovely send off. Even Flannery O'Connor couldn't make this stuff up.
We do seem to have more
than our share of freaks—I offer Roy Moore as a classic example.
But we also pulse with life. Southerners ask nosy questions that
folks from other parts of the world don't ask, and therefore we have
more juicy information about everyone we know. I remember having a
conversation with a former in-law-cousin several years ago. This
woman was a professor at Yale; reserved in a British sort of way. Her
sister, who designed catalogs for the Smithsonian, was getting
married and I asked if she planned to change her name to her
husband's. Seemed like an ordinary question to me. You'd have thought
I'd asked if she was still a virgin, so scandalized was this upper
crust lady. What is that about? In the South, if you want to know
something you ask someone who knows. We're curious; we want to know
what folks are thinking and what their plans are! We consider it
“interested,” not intrusive and too personal.
I know stories abound
everywhere. But in the South there are so many horrible stories of
hatred, fear and violence in our history, that we need every
opportunity we can muster to brighten our lives. So we write funny
stories to lay down beside our dark and murderous past. And, they're
all true—all the hideously awful, all the salt-of-the-earth
goodness, and all the hilarious freakishness exist side-by-side. We
are excellent examples of fallen angels struggling to get back to
heaven one way or another. If you could smell the gardenias blooming
in my yard right now, you'd think you were half-way there.
In the Spirit,
Jane
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