[QUOTE=Ogre]
One fact of Southern literature that can’t be overstated: absence makes the heart grow fonder. Lots of Southern novelists wrote their best works either while living away from the South, or shortly after returning from a long absence…during which, they usually hammed up their Southernness for all the (publishing) world to see.
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Capote’s another example. He had massive unresolved issues over separation from his family (the aunts, uncle and especially “Sook”) in Monroeville, a major factor in his lifelong friendship with Harper Lee (who he really only knew for about three years- very few childhood neighbor friendships last that long). His best short stories all recount Monroeville and even some of his work in Music for Chameleons set in the then present (late 70s/early 80s) draws heavily on his southern roots (including his exchange with “Big Junebug” and the prostitute with a voice “like bananas taste” in the French Quarter).
Frank Yerby was one of the (if not the) biggest selling authors of the 1950s with his plantation novels and potboiler historical fictions. His publicists and publishers tried to conceal the fact that he was black (well, to be technical he was multiracial- he had far more caucasian and Cherokee ancestry than black, but in the 50s black was what mattered) until he insisted that put his photo on the back cover and, of course, his sales (white women were his core audience) plummeted. Rich and not wanting his kids to grow up in the 60s south, he expatriated to Spain and continued writing a lot of easily forgettable books (and one really good and strange and bitter novel about Christ- Judas My Brother, out of print but really good), but when he returned to writing about Georgia and the southern U.S., even in historical fiction, his writing came alive again. It’s like he drew his strength from the red earth of … oh wait, that’s someone else.
The novel Gone With the Wind is a bit edgier on the race issue than the movie. It’s still very much a product of its times and unapologetically paternalistic, but there are some parts I really wish had made it into the movie. One line that I LOVED from the book occurred in the scene where, if you’ve seen the movie, Scarlett is going to Atlanta to con Rhett out of the money to pay the taxes on Tara dressed in “Miz Ellen’s porteers” and Mammy, finally convinced of the necessity even if she doesn’t approve, announced “I’m gwine wid ya”. In the movie the scene ends with the exchange
Sc: Now Mammy darling…
Mammy: I said I’se gwine wid ya to Atlanta and gwine I is!
and the next scene they’re in Atlanta together. In the book Scarlett forbids her to go and Mammy responds with “Miz Scarlett… I’m free. I’ll go where I please” followed by a line to the effect of "If Mammy had said ‘I shalt see thee at Philippi’ it would have been less ominous to Scarlett’ (that’s paraphrased, I don’t have the book handy). Though it’s only one line it lets you know a LOT about Mammy, namely that for all her love and devotion to the family over the decades, she resented being a slave and though sorry for the ruination it’s caused herself and her loved ones she’s glad the South lost. (The author of The Wind Done Gone picked up on the thing that obsessed me as a kid reading the novel and surely did others in the 30s though it was never address- if Mammy was wet nurse to Ellen O’Hara and to Scarlett, she had at least two children of her own 16 years apart- what happened to them?)