Category: Southern Fiction (Page 2 of 24)

Author Q & A with Lisa Howorth

Interview by Jana Hoops. Special to the Clarion-Ledger Sunday print edition (August 4)

Oxford’s Lisa Howorth combines a humorous twist with the looming realities of an America on the cusp of the 1960s in her sophomore novel, Summerlings.
Set in 1959 and narrated by 8-year-old John, the story centers around the boy’s world during a summer he would never forget: at once a carefree season spent planning shenanigans with his friends, but living with his grandparents and missing his parents, longing to make his neighborhood in Washington, D.C., a more friendly place to live, and surviving an unexplainable spider infestation that has taken over his town.

Lisa Howorth

Howorth’s narrative makes a case for more than a few obvious comparisons of the America of 60 years ago with today’s social and political climate–with a bit of nostalgia thrown in.

The Washington, D.C. native and former librarian is also the author of the novel Flying Shoes, as well as stories about art, travel, dogs and music that have appeared in the Oxford American, Garden & Gun, and other publications.

Howorth and husband Richard are the founders of Square Books in Oxford.

Summerlings packs a lot of grown-up worries into a heartfelt story about the summer of 1959 for close childhood friends and neighbors growing up in Washington, D.C. There are social and political alignments left over from World War II, the heartbreak of divorce–in a time when it was an anomaly–and the Cold War that reinforced suspicions of neighbors against each other. Since you grew up in Washington, D.C., does the setting of this story align itself with your own memories and feelings about that time and place?

Yes–absolutely! The fictional setting of Summerlings is very similar to the ‘hood of my early childhood–Chevy Chase at the District line. It didn’t really occur to me until late in life that mine was an intriguing and unusual neighborhood; typical for D.C., but for nowhere else. To us kids, of course, it was just our ‘hood, and the Washington we knew.

The story is narrated main character John, who, at 8, has his hands full with his parents’ divorce, his mother’s extended hospital stays for what he is told is a case of tuberculosis, a neighborhood bully, a spider plague of Biblical proportions, and a plan to make his neighborhood a friendlier place. As played out with his best friends Ivan, Max, and Beatriz, John’s assessments of his day-to-day challenges often reveal a degree of wisdom beyond his years, always tempered by the judgment of a child. In many ways, the story reminds us that each generation faces its own share of grave problems. What is it about John that reveals his resilience despite his problems?

The story is narrated by John as an adult looking back. As an 8-year-old, he does have a degree of wisdom beyond his years, as traumatized children do. Also like such children, he’s resilient, because what choice do kids have? John understands that his world is shaped by the incomprehensible–and sometimes cruel–actions of adults, but he has no power and must navigate the best he can, resigned to his belief that “the world is the weirdest place on earth.”

There is a fleeting scene in the story in which John’s mother is home for a brief visit, and the family sits down for dinner. He calls it “heartwarming,” and says “I was content. We were like a normal family.” Why was this such an important experience for him?

John is bereft of both parents and he longs for them, especially his mom. When she briefly returns from St. Elizabeth’s, he’s so happy, reveling in her attention and love, and hoping her “TB” is cured. And most kids want stability and normalcy–whatever that is–in their family life, and he’s able to briefly feel that. Unfortunately, as you say, his comfort is fleeting, not even lasting through their crab cake dinner.

The spider plague of that summer was like no other, and was a great equalizer that ensured a common suffering among the city’s residents – and even IT carried political suspicions. Explain the spider plague for readers.

I created the spider plague because I thought it would be fun to capture the goofiness of kids with their collecting obsessions, and would also make the adults seem a little ridiculous with their own obsessions in the Cold War years: the plague must be another plot by the Soviets to “bury” us, as Khrushchev famously said.

Also, I love writing about the natural world in a place, and I’m crazy about E.O. Wilson’s memoir, Naturalist, particularly about his Alabama childhood collecting bugs. By the way, Wilson’s mentor was Marion R. Smith, a myrmecologist (a scientist who studies ants) who worked in Mississippi and D.C. and has a cameo in Summerlings.

John laments late in the story that children are constantly being told, “You’ll understand when you’re older,” yet they are faced with problems they must process at the moment. In what ways does this entire story, which took place 60 years ago, remind us that some things never change–and what can we learn from that?

Well, I think I make it clear that the issues of the late ‘50s and early ‘60s resonate strongly today, most obviously the ongoing concern with Russia. When I began writing this book, I didn’t really set out to make this a strong theme, but the more I researched, the more I found: 60 years ago, Khrushchev vowed publicly to interfere in our elections, they were poisoning people, refugees were being turned back from the U.S., and we all feared Communism and nuclear war.

But there’s also, I think, a way to see things positively: things appear to be terrible, but we do come through. At least so far! And on a lighter note, it was fun to write about how exciting and pervasive the music and films of the ‘50s were, too–we still cherish all that, remembering the iconic lyrics and scenes. The good things also last.

Lisa Howorth will be at the Eudora Welty House on Wednesday, August 7, at 5:00 to sign and read from Summerlings. Lemuria has selected Summerlings as its July 2019 selection for its First Editions Club for Fiction.

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Howorth will also appear at the Mississippi Book Festival August 17 as a participant in the “Southern Fiction” panel at 2:45 p.m. at the Galloway Fellowship Center.

Author Q & A with Martin Clark

Interview by Jana Hoops. Special to the Clarion-Ledger Sunday print edition (July 28)

Devoting decades to his life to the rough-and-tumble field of law has been pure inspiration for the fictional stories that have made Martin Clark one of the most awarded and acclaimed legal thriller writers today.

The latest evidence of that claim: The Substitution Order, Clark’s newest novel, crafting a tale that embraces, at times, despair, hope, and unanswered questions about a lawyer who’s hit rock bottom after an unrestrained summer of bad choices leaves him broke and broken-hearted.

Martin is a retired Virginia circuit court judge of 27 years whose previous novels (The Jezebel Remedy, The Legal Limit, Plain Heathen Mischief, and The Many Aspects of Mobile Home Living) have garnered awards including a New York Times Notable Book, A Washington Post Book World Best Book of the Year, a Bookmark Magazine Book of the Year, a Boston Globe Book of the Year, a winner of the Library of Virginia’s People’s Choice Award in both 2009 and 2016, and many more.

He and his wife Deana, a photographer, live on a Virginia farm with dogs, cats, chickens, and three donkeys.

After graduating from law school 35 years ago and going on to serve as a Virginia circuit court judge for 27 of those years, the law–and writing novels with law-related stories–must have become somewhat second nature for you. Your first book, The Many Aspects of Mobile Home Living, was published in 2000, followed by three others and now The Substitution Order. All have garnered much attention. Has it surprised you that your books were immediately met with such success, which continues today?

Martin Clark

I probably shouldn’t admit this–your version sure makes for a better history–but my books were definitely not “immediately met with success.” Like so many other writers, I collected years and years of rejection letters, until 1999, when Knopf took a chance on The Many Aspects of Mobile Home Living. To this day, at every gig I do, I read from those rejection letters. Here’s a favorite riff from a 1983 butt-kicking, sent to me by a New York literary agent: “I read five pages and wondered if you’ve ever been scared by a performing flea; read 10 more and developed a severe case of vertigo.” That said, I’ve had an excellent run since then, and I’m very grateful for my good fortune, which is, all things given, pretty darn surprising.

Your works carry a dry sense of humor that is built into the twists of the plots and the personalities of the characters. Have you found that to be one of the most appealing aspects of writing–does it come naturally to you?

Pretty much. Plus, there’s so much sadness and heartbreak in the court system that occasional levity helps all of us get through the days. Eighty percent of my job as a judge was sentencing people for theft, drug charges, and probation violations–a smile or a wry comment or quiet joke often made some weeks just a tiny bit more tolerable.

In The Substitution Order, you place a likeable, down-and-out attorney in the position of combatting scam artists trying to undo his career for good, even as he struggles to win it back by playing by the rules. His journey plays out amidst health issues, relationship foibles, and legal loopholes. How do you go about developing characters and their circumstances, and do you tend to base the substance of your plots on what you’ve seen during years of law and court experience?

I absolutely draw on my time in the courtroom–write what you know, correct? But the characters and the plots are largely fictionalized, given that much of what happens in court is frequently mundane and routine. More to the point, if, as a reader, you invest in a book, you don’t want a legal primer, you want a good ride, some entertainment, some twists and turns, and maybe a very small instruction at the end. And, to be clear, in The Substitution Order, Kevin Moore certainly knows the rules and how to use them, but I wouldn’t say he follows them to the letter.

The end of The Substitution Order was a bittersweet surprise. Is that in sync with your experience of handling legal cases that may not have turned out as you expected?

Thank you for mentioning that. As writers, we hope to tell a realistic, entertaining story, create likeable characters that readers will root for, and then provide a payoff over the last few pages. “Bittersweet surprises” is a great way to put it and exactly what I hope The Substitution Order delivers. As for handling court cases and how I’ve seen them turn out, virtually any lawyer will tell you that you just never know. Plus, as I highlight in the book, sometimes it’s a victory for a litigant when things don’t go totally and completely sideways, and you sneak out with minor wounds and not a full-blown bloodletting.

What have you enjoyed most about creating these stories, and what would you say is your biggest challenge when writing?

My biggest writing challenge these days is finding the stamina and focus to slog through all the technical, picayune final edits. I love writing, but debating commas and preferred spellings and capitalization rules is tedious. Necessary, but tedious.

You can check behind me, and you’ll discover I’ve never said anything like this before–I generally don’t care to praise my own writing–but The Substitution Order is by far the best novel I’ve ever put on paper. On December 30, 2015, I almost died, and it took me about a year to fully recover. I was lucky enough to have a steadfast wife and a godsend, genius surgeon, and now I’m fixed, totally normal. So, truthfully, I enjoyed simply being able to sit down and write this novel, being able to do it. Brushing against ruin tends to make you slightly wiser and a little more thoughtful. As my editor told me about this book: “You’ve always had a great story to tell, but now you actually have something worthwhile to say.”

Martin Clark will be at Lemuria on Thursday, August 15, at 5:00 p.m. to sign and discuss The Substitution Order.

Ace Atkins’ latest Quinn Colson novel, ‘The Shameless,’ uncovers mystery decades old

By J.C. Patterson. Special to the Clarion-Ledger Sunday print edition (July 14)

It’s hard to believe that Ace Atkins’ acclaimed Ranger series has logged book number nine with The Shameless. Summer has officially arrived for a trip to north Mississippi and the heroics of Quinn Colson and his sometime accomplice Lillie Virgil. It’s like watching a John Ford movie with a twist of Faulkner.
Atkins’ fictional Tibbehah County, Mississippi is a magnet for greed, corruption, racism, and dirty deals radiating from the coast to the capitol to the North Mississippi hills.

Retired Army Ranger and reluctant sheriff Quinn Colson is up to his neck in drug and human trafficking, stolen goods and prostitution, run by a criminal Syndicate on the Gulf Coast. At the forefront is truck stop madam Fannie Hathcock, a notorious redhead with very little scruples. Politically speaking, Senator Jimmy Vardaman has his eyes on the governor’s mansion. The Syndicate has Vardaman and his creepy Watchmen bodyguards in their pocket. If Vardaman wins the governor’s race, the Syndicate will rule the state. Add in self-righteous county supervisor Old Man Skinner and his attempt to resurrect a sixty foot cross and you have a typical day in Tibbehah County.

Two young women have recently come to town looking for answers to a twenty year old mystery. In 1997, missing teen Brandon Taylor was found in the Big Woods after a long and arduous search. His death by shotgun was ruled a suicide, but Tashi Coleman and her friend Jessica think otherwise. Summoned to Mississippi by Brandon’s family, the New York duo run a podcast called Thin Air. Throughout the novel, Tashi conducts interviews with local townfolk defaming those involved and implicating those who may not have been, including Sheriff Quinn.

Tashi and Jessica uncover past history on Quinn that has only been hinted in previous novels; his rebellious youth and arrests that former sheriff and Quinn’s uncle Hamp swept under the carpet. Could these discoveries keep Quinn from getting re-elected?

On the Colson family front, Quinn’s sister Caddie is seeing a rich Jackson socialite who’s contributing to her ministry, The River. But are his intentions less than honorable? Quinn’s best friend Boom, seriously injured in last year’s The Sinners, has fallen back on the bottle while trying to heal. And now it’s uncovered that Quinn’s new wife Maggie has ties to the possibly murdered Brandon from twenty years back.

A daring jailhouse break-in silences a prisoner who has ties to the Syndicate. U.S. Marshall Lillie Virgil returns to her old stomping grounds to help Quinn track down the killers. And not a moment too soon. There’s a contract out on Quinn. Vardaman and the Syndicate want the true grit sheriff out of the picture for good.
Atkins takes the reader from political speeches at the Neshoba County Fair to seedy Memphis bars and even a hearty breakfast at The Fillin’ Station in the tiny town of Jericho. The Shameless is rife with corrupt politicians, God-fearing sinners, pole dancers, Native American hitmen, Elvis-lovin’ mamas, snoopy podcasters and a twenty year old mystery that just won’t die.

The last thirty pages of The Shameless will leave you breathless when Quinn answers a call from hell. Not since his service in Afghanistan has The Ranger been up against such bloody odds. Pull out your political fans and buckle up. It’s a fight to the finish between good and Old South evil. The longest of the Quinn Colson series, The Shameless is 446 pages of raunchy redneck misbehavin’. And one of Ace Atkins’ best works by far.

JC Patterson is the author of the “Big Easy Dreamin’” series.

Author Q & A with S. J. Rozan

Interview by Jana Hoops. Special to the Clarion-Ledger Sunday print edition (July 14)

Author SJ Rozan’s familiar detective duo of New Yorkers Lydia Chin and Bill Smith find themselves in a place “more foreign . . . than any (they’d) ever seen”–the Mississippi Delta–when they tackle yet another mystery in her newest tale, Paper Son.

Multi-award-winning crime writer Rozan, herself a native and current resident of New York City, was intrigued when she first heard about the Delta’s long-established Chinese community, and proved that this “Most Southern Place on Earth” was also the best setting yet for another whodunit. And this time, it‘s personal: Lydia’s cousin–whom she never knew existed–has been accused of murdering his father.

To her writing credit of 16 novels and more than 70 short stories, Rozan adds Paper Son, the 12th in her popular Lydia and Bill series. Her work has been the recipient of the Edgar, Shamus, Anthony, Nero, Macavity, and Japanese Maltese Falcon awards, and she recently captured the Life Achievement Award from the Private Eye Writers of America.

Rozan will appear as an official panelist at the Mississippi Book Festival on the lawn of the Mississippi Capital on August 17.

How did you decide to set your latest novel in the Mississippi Delta – the “most Southern place on earth”? Do you have friends/family/ties to Mississippi? Did you visit the Delta in person to research the land, people and culture of the area?

S.J. Rozan

I first went to the Delta to visit my friend Eric Stone, who had moved to Clarksdale. Eric introduced me to the story of the Delta’s Chinese grocers. I’d never heard this fascinating bit of American history. I’d been writing about Chinese-American private eye Lydia Chin for years, and this seemed like a situation made for her. I researched the history of the grocers and the Delta itself when I was back in NYC, then made two more trips to the Delta to interview, see people and places, and get a feel for the sights, sounds, and smells.

Paper Son places private investigator Lydia Chin and her partner Bill Smith in the heart of the Mississippi Delta, with a plan to defend a cousin in what appears to be an open-and-shut murder case. As an American-born native of Chinatown in New York City, Chin, and fellow New Yorker Smith, face the Delta with the uncertainties of “strangers in a strange land.” They are soon sorting through the tangled “facts,” amid nuances of the Delta’s past. What role does the setting of this story play, and what would you say this case tells us about the secrets of the Delta–past and present?

The setting in some ways IS the story. This is true in all my books, with Paper Son as my 12th Lydia and Bill book, and my 16th overall. Things happen in some places–in this instance, the complicated family history of Lydia’s Delta cousins–that wouldn’t happen in others. What the case tells us about the secrets of the Delta, I think, are universal truths: everything is complex and nuanced; we rarely get any whole story unless we dig for it; and the motivations for people’s actions are often different from what we think they are.

After working in a number of career roles, how did you know that writing was what you were meant to do, and what was it that made you gravitate specifically toward writing crime novels (or is the term “mysteries” more accurate)?

I like the term “crime novels;” it’s broader and gives me more leeway as a writer. I always wanted to write, but in college I got sidetracked by the thought that a person had a responsibility to do something useful in the world. I became an architect. The firm I was with did sustainable buildings and historic preservation. They were great people and I enjoyed the work, but I wasn’t happy. As soon as I admitted that to myself, I realized I wanted to go back to my original love, which was writing. Crime novels attract me because they’re about two main issues: a moment when someone feels intense pressure to respond to a situation, and the aftereffects of that response.

Have you already begun to write the next adventure for Lydia and Bill–or perhaps other characters–and why do you think Lydia and Bill have become endeared to so many readers?

The way my series works, Lydia and Bill alternate as narrators from book to book, with the other character as sidekick. Paper Son is Lydia’s book, and I’ve started the next one, which will be Bill’s. It’s set in the New York art world, an endless source of intrigue. What readers tell me they like about Lydia and Bill is the way they’re obviously fond of each other, or maybe even more than that, and they can depend on one another absolutely, but neither of them will take any baloney–from the other, or from anyone else. Also, Lydia, a strong independent Asian woman with, nevertheless, a huge family she takes seriously, is an unusual character in crime fiction.

Please tell me about your participation in the upcoming Mississippi Book Festival on Aug. 17 in Jackson. On which panel will you be a participant, and what will be the topic of discussion? Is this your first appearance at this event?

This will be the first time I’ve been part of the Mississippi Book Festival and I’m very much looking forward to it. I haven’t gotten my panel assignment yet, but whatever it is I’m sure it’ll be interesting and fun. ‘See you there!

S.J. Rozan will appear at the Mississippi Book Festival August 17 as a participant in the “The Thrill of Mystery” panel at 1:30 p.m. in State Capitol Room 113.

Author Q & A with Chanelle Benz

Interview by Jana Hoops. Special to the Clarion-Ledger Sunday print edition (June 23)

Born in London and growing up in points around the U.S., Chanelle Benz wound up discovering the Mississippi Delta–which would become the setting for her new novel The Gone Dead–when her husband’s educational path brought them to the University of Southern Mississippi for his studies.

In this evocative story of a young woman who returns to the Delta to answer questions about her past, Benz takes readers inside the unexpected darkness that drew main character Billie James back to her hometown, even as she finds her life in danger.

Benz’s short stories in have appeared in Guernica, Granta, Electric Literature, The American Reader, Fence and The Cupboard; and she is the recipient of an O. Henry Prize. Her story collection The Man Who Shot Out My Eye Is Dead was named a Best Book of 2017 by the San Francisco Chronicle and was longlisted for the 2018 PEN/Robert Bingham Prize for Debut Fiction and the 2017 Story Prize.

She earned a BFA in acting from Boston University and a master’s in creative writing from Syracuse University. Today she lives in Memphis where she teaches at Rhodes College.

Please tell me about your connection to Mississippi and your time exploring the state. How did this experience inform your depiction of your Southern characters, the fictional town of Greendale and the historical events behind The Gone Dead?

Chanelle Benz

I lived for almost two years in Hattiesburg, where my husband was getting his PhD. Whenever I was feeling restless, I would drive out to whatever town with any sort of interesting history: Clarksdale, Natchez, Vicksburg, Greenwood, Glendora, Yazoo City, Money, Oxford. I kept being drawn back to the Delta and its lush, wounded, storied landscapes. Being there, I understood this country in a way I never had before. How intimately the ache of our racial past is bound up in the present moment. This is a country founded on, built on slavery, and without a true reckoning of that brutal legacy there can be no true reconciliation. I was also surprised by the people I encountered–their rootedness, deep devotion to family, their sense of gratitude and faith, and of course, the master storytellers.

When I think about the haunted quality of the Delta, I think about voices in the air: the longing of the blues, civil rights era speeches, the voices within and calling across the racial and economic disparity. But most of all I was haunted by the voices that have been omitted, forgotten, or silenced, by the long list of names of civil rights era murders whose families have never had anything approaching justice or acknowledgement, although in many cases they know who did it. For so long those families have suffered under that loss and indignity, while the perpetrators and their families have controlled the narrative.

The main character of The Gone Dead is 34 (turning 35)-year-old Billie, who returns to the Mississippi Delta from Philadelphia, Pa., to search for answers about her poet father’s death 30 years previous. She was the only child of her white mother and black father, both activists, and both now deceased. During her short stay in Greendale, she reconnects with extended family and experiences flashes of happy memories, along with suspicion, fear, racism, violence, and more than a few surprises, including an unexpected romance. Why is she on this mission now, and why is it so important to her?

Ever since I was a little girl, it was a joke that whenever someone had been looking for my Great Aunt Aggie back in Ireland, they would say to my grandmother, “Go and get your sister Aggie before she throws herself in the river.” Or some other act equally as suicidal. As an adult, I thought wait a minute—what the hell is wrong with Aggie and why is everyone so cavalier about her deep depression? There’s a story there.

Being back in her father’s house as an adult, Billie realizes what a fragmentary and inadequate story she’s been told about what happened to her father–and herself–during that early but consequential part of her childhood.

The mix of characters in The Gone Dead creates a “perfect storm” of puzzle pieces that both taunt and support Billie as she unravels the truth of what really happened to her father. These include a scholar, a land owner, a love interest, a former Klan member, a mother who devoted her intellectual pursuits to medieval studies, a former girlfriend of her father’s (while he was married to her mother), a lovable dog–and an uncle with way too many secrets. How did you develop so many rich characters while threading the details of this story together?

I don’t think that the book really came together until I realized that it wasn’t just Billie’s story, that it was communal, and there are things which she as outsider will never know and only these other voices can tell us. Most of us like to think that we are or would be on the right side of history, but the truth is that in another time under another set of circumstances, we might not. I wanted to overturn my initial biases about who some of these characters might be, where their voices were coming from, and try to channel the story they are telling themselves about themselves that lets them do what they did.

Much of your previous writing (short stories) has included story plots set in a considerable variety of places and times. Do you find it difficult to embrace so many different cultures and time periods to present such a wide range of narratives? And does your training and talent in both acting and writing merge here to make this task easier?

It’s what I like to do best. In acting, you’re taught that it’s all within you, you just have to find that splinter and enlarge it. I love research, I love history, and I’m interested in counter-narratives. I am not particularly interested in writing about myself or my life. Typically, I like to begin far from myself, in worlds I’m curious about, though inevitably my own preoccupations show up.

Did you find things about Mississippi and its people during your stay here that you found encouraging?

Well, there were times in Mississippi where I felt claustrophobic and worn down witnessing the oppressive systems and stagnation that traps people in poverty, and times when I felt humbled by and in awe of the richness of its literary culture, and the intrepid generosity and resilience of so many of its people.

For me, what this country has tried to deny or forget is pretty visible in Mississippi–the pernicious mythology of the Lost Cause, the white backlash after Reconstruction and desegregation, what bodies carry when they do not get to heal from inter-generational trauma–things that are true in every other state but in Mississippi are more out in the open.

But if you believe in redemption or miracles or positive change, it has happened in Mississippi, brought about by Mississippians with everything to lose, and maybe it is the epicenter of where it will happen again.

Any chance you may have other stories set in Mississippi?

Of course–I have so much more to learn.

Chanelle Benz will appear as a panelist at the Mississippi Book Festival on the grounds of the State Capitol in Jackson on August 17.

The past is never dead in ‘At Briarwood School for Girls’ by Michael Knight

by Andrew Hedglin

I was drawn to pick up Michael Knight’s new novel, At Briarwood School for Girls, this spring because I remember appreciating his previous book, Eveningland, a collection of loosely interconnected short stories set around Mobile Bay, two years ago when he came for a signing. Knight’s writing can sometimes be very subtle and quiet, but also haunting and beautiful.

Knight’s new novel, set in 1994 at a boarding school in rural Virginia, is told from the perspective of Lenore Littlefield, a pregnant student of hidden talents and opaque motivations, and two lonely faculty members ostensibly charged with the education and guidance of Littlefield and her peers. The first person to whom Lenore reveals her predicament is her well-intentioned but somewhat indecisive history teacher, Lucas Bishop.

The final main character is Coach Patricia Fink, the basketball coach who prefers to live rather Zen-fully in the moment. She is not a fan of complications, but complications start to pile up after she inherits the task of directing the school play when the regular drama teacher departs on unexpected maternity leave. The selection of Coach Fink is no accident, however, as the headmistress keenly remembers her star turn as Maria in a Briarwood production of West Side Story, once upon a time.

The play Coach Fink is tasked with overseeing is The Phantom of Thornton Hall, a Pulitzer Prize winner from twenty years prior, written by one of Briarwood’s most famous–and enigmatic–alumni, Eugenia Marsh. The play, set in a Briarwood-like boarding school, is a conversation between a pregnant teenager and a ghost of a former student haunting the dormitory. Naturally, through a series of short machinations, Lenore is cast in the lead role, playing out her secret on stage.

Meanwhile, the Disney corporation threatens development just outside the ivied walls of the school. Opinion is starkly divided on campus about the construction of Disney’s America theme park just miles from the Manassas battlefield (a real thing that happened in the early 1990s in Virginia). This motif serves as a metaphor for the trio of main characters struggling to adapt to change in their own lives.

Ultimately, though, we can’t live in the past, cannot return to it. The best we can do is use it for counsel, which each character learns to do in their own unique way. It is a dreamy scene that Michael Knight sets before us to ponder these mysteries, in a time that can only seem simpler in retrospect.

Michael Knight will be at Lemuria on Wednesday, May 15, at 5:00 p.m. to sign and discuss At Briarwood School for Girls.

Barry Gifford’s ‘Southern Nights’ will keep you awake

By Ellis Purdie. Special to the Clarion-Ledger Sunday print edition (May 12)

When asked to read Barry Gifford’s Southern Nights for review, I agreed without hesitation. Though unfamiliar with Gifford’s (many) books, I had seen the films Lost Highway and Wild at Heart, both directed by David Lynch of Twin Peaks fame and penned by Gifford.

If his novels were anything like his screenplays, I knew one thing for certain: they would not bore.

As of this review, I confirm, the three short novels in Southern Nights, comprised of Night PeopleArise & Walk, and Baby Cat-Face will leave you awake at night, pulse racing, double-taking the shadows for Gifford’s people.

These novels are a howling freight train, lit up and pummeling full blast into the darkness. While reading them, I kept thinking of Flannery O’Connor, Barry Hannah, and William Gay: southern writers unafraid of depicting violence, the grotesque, the worst in the human heart.

Though the Chicago-born Gifford is not a “southern writer” proper as the three aforementioned, the setting for Southern Nights is the South, and the novels boast the wildest of Baptist preachers, unashamed deviants, drug peddlers, assassins, flying bullets, and the children who write letters to Jesus in effort to navigate such a relentless world.

At one point while reading Night People, I stopped and called a friend, saying, “If you haven’t read Barry Gifford, go grab this book right now. In the section I just finished, a woman drives over to her husband’s lover’s house, shoots them both, then drives her car into a wall of the Reach Deep Baptist Church, dying upon impact. This is the real stuff.”

In terms of plot, the novels in Southern Nights skirt an overarching narrative, focusing instead on several smaller narratives within the same setting. The last section of Night People, for example, tells the story of a young girl, Marble Lesson.

Marble’s father, Wes, is down on his luck, recently divorced, and in need of work. The story begins with Marble’s leaving New Orleans to live with her mother in Florida.

However, upon hearing of her father’s suffering without her, Marble hitches a ride with a transgender woman who, after some of the most charming dialogue I have read in some time, puts Marble on a plane back to Louisiana.

What follows is fireworks: Wes getting involved with a drug cartel, taking Marble with him to meet his new employer, an assassin showing up with ill intentions, and Marble’s encounter with said assassin that leaves him artfully dead on the floor.

In another episode in Arise & Walk, two characters wait in a hotel room for their purchased dates.

When the women arrive, the men, Wilbur “Damfino” Nougat and Gaspar DeBlieux (Gifford consistently uses the best names), quickly realize they are getting something other than what they paid for. The scene is hilarious, disturbing, and searingly original. Again, guns are involved.

These are only two narratives out of a 452-page book chock-full of thrilling madness. Interestingly, while there are stories of some length in the book, Gifford writes such that you can turn to almost any chapter and read something interesting.

The chapters feel both like the continuation of a novel as well as flash fiction pieces that stand on their own. Like flash fiction, the chapters are short, making each novel a brisk whirlwind of an experience.

These novels are haymakers: stunning, brutal, not for the faint of heart. I greatly admire Gifford’s honesty, his “going there” in these works with no fear.

After Southern Nights, I will be reading Gifford’s Sailor and Lula novels, his books of poetry, and even his nonfiction on horse-racing. Gifford has the goods, and he delivers.

Ellis Purdie is a graduate of The Center for Writers at The University of Southern Mississippi. He lives with his family in Marshall, Texas.

Barry Gifford will be at Lemuria on Wednesday, May 22, at 5:00 p.m. to sign and discuss Southern Nights.

Author Q & A with Mary Miller

Interview by Jana Hoops. Special to the Clarion-Ledger Sunday print edition (May 12)

Oxford’s Mary Miller highlights a Mississippi coastal town with a thoughtful tale of a middle-aged man facing an uncertain and lonely future–until he adopts a dog on a whim and one thing leads to another.

Her new novel, Biloxi, focuses with compassion, humor and hope on Louis McDonald, Jr., a man who has made his share of mistakes and truly needs a fresh start. The plot is part unconventional, part relatable–and all-around encouraging.
Miller also authored two short story collections, Big World and Always Happy Hour, and her debut novel, The Last Days of California. She is a graduate of the Michener Center for Writers at the University of Texas and a former John and Renée Grisham Writer-in-Residence at Ole Miss.

In brief, Biloxi is the story of a 63-year-old man, Louis McDonald, Jr., facing his share of insecurities and mistakes (most of which are of his own doing), and who finds a new lease on life when he adopts a dog. As an accomplished young woman, did you find it hard to put yourself in his place, in this story told in first person?

Mary Miller

Thank you for the compliment! Though Louis is different from me in many ways–marital status, politics, gender, age–I understand him pretty well. He’s lonely. Life hasn’t turned out as he planned. He wants to connect with people, but he’s afraid of being hurt or rejected. All of these are human experiences, and there aren’t many among us who haven’t encountered each of them at some point in our lives. In other words, Louis is “everyman,” though he’s certainly more curmudgeonly than most.

The best word to describe Louis’s life–as a man who lives alone and is recently divorced with no real friends and a daughter and granddaughter he avoids–is “boring.” How does adopting a dog begin to change that in no time flat?

You’re right. Reading about a person alone in a house with his own thoughts is boring. When writing, the best thing you can do is give your narrator someone with whom to interact. This is writing 101.

Layla, the dog, gets Louis out into the world. He has to buy her a bed and food and toys; he wants to socialize her, so he takes her to the dog park. Early on, he thinks, “I also felt a strange need to entertain her, be interesting. Lucky for her I was an interesting man.” He comes to life with Layla around, finds himself making up songs and belting them out. He tries to teach her to catch and fetch and navigate the doggy door, and though he has little success, she’s given him renewed purpose. Layla is a reason for him to get out of bed in the morning.

Louis is not only insecure, but brutally frank as he not only ruminates about his fate to himself, but, quite often, when he ventures even the most mundane comments to people he doesn’t even know. This often results in great moments of humor for the reader (even when he’s talking to the dog). Does some of this come from your own straightforward thoughts in conversations with yourself and others in everyday life

Sure, though I’m nicer and more genial than Louis. He makes people uncomfortable a lot of the time. I hope I don’t make people uncomfortable! I do have a tendency to put my foot in my mouth, though, to say the wrong thing at the wrong time. I also talk to my dog a lot, ask her questions and bounce ideas off of her. She seems to appreciate being included.

Louis has a penchant for drinking (as is mentioned every day that passes in the Biloxi story), he doesn’t sleep well, worries about his future a great deal, and has a pattern of getting himself into awkward situations, to say the least. He comes to realize that even his father didn’t seem to care much for him. Why is it so easy to find this character as likable as we do?

I’m glad you found him likeable. Louis, with all of his flaws and self-sabotaging behavior, is pretty funny. Or it’s fun for the reader to watch him get himself into absurd situations. I don’t know if he would find himself humorous, though I think he might get a chuckle out of some of his actions in retrospect, like when he’s shoving religious pamphlets down his pants or lamenting the loss of his stolen blender.

There’s a ridiculous quality to the story, like the fact that his father’s lawyer “died after a swallowed toothpick punctured his bowels.” Even when Louis is taking himself seriously–when he’s dejected or drunk or worried–the prose and storyline work to balance it out. Or that was my goal; the reader will have to decide if I achieved it.

After everything he’s gone through in the course of just a few days, it seems that Louis’s redemption does come in the end. What’s the takeaway here?

Thank you! I don’t think in terms of the takeaway. I just tried to write a book that was true to this character and his life.

Most novels follow a pretty basic formula: put your character up a tree; throw rocks at him; bring him down. Louis is up the tree when I find him, and he’s been pelted with rocks for quite a while. And I keep chucking them. Ultimately, I’m not sure how much Louis’s life has changed by the end–it’s not like there’s any sort of formal redemption. He’s repairing his relationship with his daughter and her family, however, which is a start, and he’s got Layla by his side. Like Louis, I have my dog by my side, too.

Mary Miller will be at Lemuria on Tuesday, May 21, at 5:00 p.m. to sign and discuss Biloxi. Lemuria has selected Biloxi as its May 2019 selection for its First Editions Club for Fiction.

Harper Lee’s sequel mystery solved in Casey Cep’s ‘Furious Hours’

By Jim Ewing. Special to the Clarion-Ledger Sunday print edition (May 12)

One of the enduring mysteries after the 2016 death of author Harper Lee was: Did she work on a book to follow her iconic To Kill a Mockingbird and was there an unpublished manuscript?

Casey Cep in Furious Hours: Murder, Fraud, and the Last Trial of Harper Lee does an admirable job in solving the mystery—in more ways that one.

Foremost, she solves the mystery of the much rumored book that Lee was reportedly working on through painstaking journalism, tracking down sources, doing interviews, resurrecting lost notes and compiling a fascinating picture of Lee’s life post-Mockingbird.

But she also resurrects the tale itself, the story that Lee referred to as “The Reverend,” producing a book within a book by writing herself the book that Lee couldn’t find a way to piece together.

Cep recounts that Lee spent three years trying to write “The Reverend,” going about it the same way that she had helped childhood friend Truman Capote compile his book In Cold Blood.

Just as Lee and Capote spent months in Kansas doing interviews and watching the murder trial that resulted in the “nonfiction novel” Capote wrote to great acclaim, Cep writes, Lee attempted to recreate the feat alone in Alexander City, Ala.

Lee’s case of suspicious deaths revolved around the Rev. Willie Maxwell, beginning with his wife Mary Lou found dead in her car Aug. 3, 1970. While investigators couldn’t prove a murder, they found that “his private life bore little resemblance to the one his parishioners thought he was living, and no resemblance at all to those he extolled in his sermons.”

He was acquitted at trial, based on the possibly perjured testimony of his neighbour, Dorcas Anderson, whom 15 months after the death, he married.

She was 27 to his 46 and, conveniently, and suspiciously also, a new widow.

It was a trend. Then, his brother died and, like Mary Lou before him, Maxwell had taken out several life insurance policies on him, totaling $100,000 (about $500,000 today).

On Sept. 20, 1972, Dorcas was found dead—with 17 life insurance policies the Reverend had on her.

He married wife number three in November, 1974, with Ophelia Burns. Shortly after, a nephew died.

All were under suspicious circumstances that neither police nor insurance investigators could prove were the product of a crime.

The community began to view the black preacher as a hoodoo conjurer. After his first wife’s death, “a lot of people were convinced that he had used voodoo to fix the jury … and charm a younger woman” into marrying him, but “as time passed and more people died, the stories about the reverend grew stronger, stranger, and, if possible, more sinister.”

It was said “he hung white chickens upside down from the pecan trees outside his house to keep away unwanted spirits and painted blood on his doorsteps to keep away the authorities. … Drive by his front door, and the headlights on any car would go dark. Say a cross word against him, and he would lay a trick on you.”

One could certainly see how this Southern gothic tale would be enticing for the creator of such characters as Scout, Atticus—and the scary Boo Radley.

But Cep posits that in “The Reverend” Lee believed she would redeem herself as a story teller of the “true” South—where the status of race relations was more complex and nuanced than black and white, as in the morality tale of Mockingbird.

Mockingbird had been read as a clarion call for civil rights, but Lee’s views were more complicated than any editor wanted to put into print,” Cep writes, as demonstrated by Go Set a Watchman, the original text for Mockingbird.

When Maxwell was brought to trial a final time, in 1977, with the suspicious death of Maxwell’s adopted daughter, Lee was there to watch it, and she found the medium for writing a book that would parallel Mockingbird, but present it in a more complex manner.

It had a black hero, who was also a vigilante operating outside the law; a black villain, who while masquerading as a preacher was also believed to be evil incarnate; a white crusading attorney, who was also profiting off of black death; crimes that looked like murder but were treated more like fraud, and “white and black lives that existed almost side by side in small Southern towns but were worlds apart.”

How and why “The Reverend” never came to print is a separate story, believably related.

In Furious, Lee’s admirers will discover a new perspective on the reclusive author while also catching an enticing glimpse of the “lost” book that could or would have been a more modern sequel of To Kill a Mockingbird.

Casey Cep will be at Lemuria on Monday, May 13, at 5:00 p.m. to sign and discuss Furious Hours: Murder, Fraud, and the Last Trial of Harper Lee. Lemuria has selected Furious Hours as its May 2019 selection for its First Editions Club for Nonfiction.

Author Q & A with Casey Cep

Interview by Jana Hoops. Special to the Clarion-Ledger Sunday print edition (May 5)

In her debut book, writer Casey Cep takes on the almost unbelievable 1970s crime story of an Alabama man who dubbed himself “The Reverend” and went on to commit a spree of murders so outrageous that he would meet a shocking end to his own life–and his offenses would bring Pulitzer Prize-winning author Harper Lee to a decision to write her own account of his crimes.

And although the celebrated author of To Kill a Mockingbird spent years dedicated to researching the story of “The Reverend” Willie Maxwell, Lee would never finish the book.

In Furious Hours: Murder, Fraud, and the Last Trial of Harper Lee, Cep chronicles the dual stories of Maxwell’s crimes with Lee’s unsuccessful attempt to complete her own narrative of those events, despite her obvious gift for journalism.

A Maryland native, Cep is a graduate of Harvard University and studied as a Rhodes Scholar at the University of Oxford. Her work has appeared in The New Yorker, The New York Times, and The New Republic, among others.

What drew you this unique story in Furious Hours and write it as not only a chronicle of “the Reverend” and his crimes, but an inner glimpse into the life of Harper Lee?

Casey Cep

I first learned of these murders while reporting on Lee’s novel Go Set a Watchman, so in some ways my book was always going to include her. The more I learned, though, the clearer it became that she wasn’t just a coda to the story, but an integral part of it. Her own reporting had been substantial, so I wanted to honor that, but I also thought her struggles provided a useful way of thinking about the aesthetic and ethical challenges that any journalist faces when trying to write about other people’s lives, especially with true crime.

Lee, who grew up known by her first name, Nelle, has said that she never felt like she fit in during her school years. Why was that?

Right, Nelle is Ellen backward, which her parents chose to honor her maternal grandmother. Stories about Lee as a young girl map onto her beloved heroine, so if you think about how Maycomb reacted to Scout Finch, then you get a sense of how Monroeville reacted to her: no one knew quite what to do with the clever tomboy who wore overalls and liked playing with the boys. Even when she went off to college, Lee stood out: quoting obscure English poets, wearing blue jeans, smoking, and swearing with gusto. From her letters, though, we know it was a bit of a two-way street: she was odd, but not an outcast; her distance from her peers was as much her own doing as theirs.

Lee longed to be a writer and envied her contemporaries whose personalities allowed them to blossom and share their talents, but there were times she found herself unable to write because she was between “perfectionism and despair.” How did this affect her writing?

I think perfectionism can make it hard to finish something and despair can make it hard to start, so if you are a writer who seesaws between the two, it can be paralyzing. Lee could spend an entire day on a single page but also impulsively toss out whole manuscripts, and because she valorized suffering as necessary for artistry, her struggles were self-reinforcing.

But she wasn’t like that when she wasn’t trying to write, and I found it moving when her friends would share memories of how charming she was, and how raucously funny she could be. Harper Lee would hold court with stories about her neighbors in Monroeville and her neighborhood in Manhattan that were like something out of Chaucer or Dickens, and you just wish she could’ve written them down as easily as she told them around the dinner table.

As Lee took an interest in the massive story of “the Reverend” and decided to write a book about it, it turned out that she was a keen investigative reporter, a task she obviously loved and was good at. It seems that she felt a sense of energy and pride as she worked on this crime story–but the book was never completed. Why?

You’re right that she was an incredible reporter. People she interviewed in Kansas while helping Truman Capote with In Cold Blood and people she interviewed in Alabama while working on “The Reverend” say she was the most interesting, inquisitive person they ever met.

She could put any source at ease, and she had the kind of patience it takes to get people to tell you their secrets. She was energized by the social aspects of reporting, but of course the hard part about writing a book is that at some point you have to actually write it, and she really struggled with that solitary work. She was also living in the shadow of her own bestselling, prize-winning masterpiece, so on top of everything else, she was facing sky-high expectations, from herself and from the world.

Your research for Furious Hours is impressive, as you give readers an inside look into decades-old crimes and their outcomes; as well as information about Lee that many have never heard. How did you approach the research and organization of this book?

Early on, I did what I always do when I’m starting something new: I read everything I could get my hands on. Not just about Harper Lee, but also voodoo, murder, the insanity defense, sharecropping, dams, revivals, insurance fraud, courthouses, and on and on and on. After that, I started tracking down leads about the original crimes, and then doing the same thing for Lee. I always knew the structure–the Reverend, the Lawyer, and the Writer–so I would just file what I found into folders and then organize the folders, and every day I’d hope to find some new document or convince someone new to talk with me. But at some point, you have to accept that some things are lost to time and some people just won’t talk with you, so you say a prayer, and start writing.

You say in the book that Lee “was so elusive that even her mysteries have mysteries.” Please explain.

I wrote that line when I was particularly struck by the incongruity between the tremendous interest in Lee and the paucity of information about her. She was always private, and she remained that way despite having written one of the world’s most popular novels. After years of reporting, and even getting to interview some of those who knew her best, there was still just so much more I wanted to know. I realize that everyone’s inner lives are somewhat mysterious–even those closest to us, like our siblings or our parents–so of course the mind and heart of an artist like Harper Lee will always remain a little elusive.

Casey Cep will at Lemuria on Monday, May 13, at 5:00 to sign copies of and discuss Furious Hours. Lemuria has selected Furious Hours its May 2019 selection for its First Editions Club for Nonfiction.

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