What we have here is a slim book by a woman originally from Alabama who know lives in New York (sound familiar, Harper Lee?) who travels to the home places of several prominent Southern writers. Hard original, but the book was worth reading.
There's Eudora Welty's Jackson. It turns out that she was well-known in her town (passed away in 2001) and she was a devoted gardener. "Our place comprehended," Welty wrote, "helps us understand all places better." Her home is preserved and receives many visitors each year.
Richard Wright, he of "Native Son" and "Black Boy" fame, also originally from Jackson is a different story. His home is long gone. A victim of sordid racism, beaten by his grandmother, Wright escaped from the South and never went back. You can't blame him. I have read and enjoyed "Native Son." Maybe I should read more from Richard Wright.
Flannery O'Connor had her peacocks. Didn't know that. I must admit I haven'r read much of her. Poor thing: an invalid for much of her adult life.
There's Barry Hannah and Larry Brown. I have read Larry Brown and like his rough, red-neck, Southern writing. I tried Barry Hannah, a crazy man everyone says, but I didn't care for him.
There is always a thing about Southern writers. Are Southern writers really different? Is the South still unique? I'm not sure anymore.
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