Tag: Author Event (Page 4 of 15)

Author Q & A with Tammy L. Turner

Interview by Jana Hoops. Special to the Clarion-Ledger Sunday print edition (June 16)

It was about a decade after music professor Tammy L. Turner met blues promoter/producer Dick Waterman in a class at Ole Miss that she came to realize “he had an important story that needed to be told,” and she has captured his extraordinary career in the memoir, Dick Waterman: A Life in the Blues (University Press of Mississippi).

Born in 1935 into an affluent Jewish family in Massachusetts, Waterman began his career in the 1950s as a journalist, honing his skills as a writer and photographer. It was his interest in the folk music of Greenwich Village and Cambridge in the 1960s that would lead him to a position as a music promoter in Boston, which eventually brought him to his “calling in life” with his pursuit of Mississippi Delta Blues artist Son House.

Waterman’s significant influence on decades of American music became evident in the careers of many big names in the music industry, in a variety of genres. Today he lives in Oxford, retired but “still busy.”

Turner resides in Kentucky, where she teaches a variety of university courses in music history. She is especially interested in 20th century music, including blues, jazz, rock, and classical music.

You hold a doctoral degree in music history from the University of Mississippi. Tell me about how you became interested in music–specifically blues music, and Dick Waterman in particular.

I had little exposure to blues music until I took Dr. Warren Steel’s African American musical traditions class at Ole Miss. It was in this class that I also met Dick. He was a guest at one of our class meetings and brought with him a number of his iconic black and white photographs from the 1960s, including a number of the early blues artists with whom he had worked.

Your research for this book is evident in the details, conversations, and interviews you reveal. How long have you known Waterman, and when did you realize his story should be published as a book?

Tammy Turner

Although I met Dick over two decades ago when he was a guest in our class, I did not have an opportunity to converse with him that day. I had classes of my own to teach and left immediately after the class ended. I graduated with my degree a couple of years later and moved away from Oxford.

As I continued my university teaching career, I eventually taught courses in both jazz and rock ‘n’ roll history. Blues music is a component in both courses, so I began to study blues more intently. I remembered Dick and his photos and, over the years, regretted missing such an excellent opportunity to talk with him about his work. In 2011, I traveled to Mississippi to do some blues research and was able to reconnect with him and we spent a delightful afternoon discussing his career.

Through a series of events, I helped arrange a photo exhibition and lecture for him in western Kentucky, where I reside. I enjoyed working with him and felt he had an important story that needed to be told. I approached him with the idea, and, after some consideration, he was amenable to the idea and granted me full access to the details of his life and his archives.

Waterman’s career in blues really began with his journey with Nick Perls and Phil Spiro into the Mississippi Delta in 1964 at the height of the Civil Rights movement to find bluesman Son House, who had faded into obscurity two decades prior. What did this lead to?

They found House, but not in Mississippi. Through contacts they made in Mississippi, they learned he was living in Rochester and drove there to meet him. In meeting House, Dick found a mission. It was in finding Son House that he found his calling and began his career in blues booking and management.

What would you say Waterman accomplished in the blues world (and other music genres)?

Dick played such a critical role in 20th century blues history. He was one of the three men who rediscovered Son House. Due to his tireless efforts, House came out of retirement for approximately 10 years and recorded an album with Columbia Records.

In June 1965, Dick founded Avalon Productions, which was the only agency at the time devoted solely to representing African American blues artists. He helped book some of the most important blues festivals of the 1960s and ‘70s, including the 1969 and 1970 Ann Arbor Blues Festivals, and he helped establish others.

He worked with several older bluesmen to reignite their careers, including Mississippi Fred McDowell, Skip James, Robert Pete Williams as well as others. He discovered a young singer/guitarist named Bonnie Raitt and assisted her career. He also convinced Buddy Guy to leave his day job as a mechanic in Chicago to pursue music as a full-time career. Musicians trusted him to handle their careers because he earned a reputation for honesty and integrity.

Waterman has left his mark on America’s musical history as a promoter and manager for artists who included many big blues names–and some of the biggest rock and other performers in the world, including James Taylor, Bruce Springsteen, and many others. What would you say drove him, and continues to drive him, to become such an important influencer in American music?

Dick inherited a tremendous work ethic from his father, who was a medical doctor. He also has a staunch sense of fairness and both a willingness and determination to advocate for others, especially those who are not in a position to advocate for themselves. It was never his goal to become famous, but to protect the older blues artists from exploitation, to demand competitive compensation for their work, and fight for royalties that some of them were being denied.

Today, Waterman lives in Oxford, where he moved in the mid-‘80s. What is he doing today?

Dick is retired, but still active. After a few decades away from photography, he returned to photographing musicians in the 1990s. In 2003 he published a book of his most iconic works titled Between Midnight and Day: The Last Unpublished Blues Archives and in 2006 wrote the text for The B.B. King Treasures book. He sells his photos, both new and old, at his website dickwaterman.com. He still receives requests for photo exhibitions/lectures and as a guest speaker discussing his work in the blues at various events and classes.

Tammy Tuner will be at Lemuria on Saturday, June 22, at 2:00 p.m. to sign copies of Dick Waterman: A Life in Blues.

Author Q & A with Wright Thompson

Interview by Jana Hoops. Special to the Clarion-Ledger Sunday print edition (June 9)

Oxford resident and ESPN Magazine senior writer Wright Thompson shares 14 essays (chosen from years of examining the inner lives of sports figures) in his new book The Cost of These Dreams: Sports Stories and Other Serious Business.

But Thompson doesn’t just “cover sports.” His is more a literary style that frames the athletes he writes about in a light most have never seen cast on these figures: the struggles, the hopes, the disappointments, and oftentimes the personal failures of men and women who know firsthand the high cost required to make it to the top – and attempt to stay there. Included are the stories of Michael Jordan, Bear Bryant, Ted Williams, and others who know the pain and joy of success in sports at its highest levels. Thompson ends the book with a memoir of his late father and his personal longings to honor his dad’s memory.

The Clarksdale native began writing about sports for his hometown newspaper while in high school, and he went on to the University of Missouri in Columbia to study journalism. Wright would write for The Times-Picayune in New Orleans and The Kansas City Star (where he covered Super Bowls, Final Fours, The Masters and the Kentucky Derby) before joining the ESPN staff in 2006.

Tell me about how you became interested in sports and sports writing, especially “literary” sports writing.

Wright Thompson

I became interested in sports because both my mother, Mary, and my father, Walter, loved sports; they both loved football and my mom is obsessed with basketball. For her last big milestone birthday, I took her to games one through four of the NBA Finals.

I became interested in literature because my mother was an English and creative writing teacher and because I grew up in a house filled with books. We had a room in our house we called the library because it was floor to ceiling bookshelves, and I lived on those shelves. I read Dylan Thomas and Thomas Merton and C.S. Lewis and Willie Morris and on and on and on. My working life started in that front room with the great light through the old glass windows.

The Cost of These Dreams is a compilation of 14 essays you’ve written during your career with ESPN Magazine. Please tell me how the book came about, and why.

The short answer is that I wanted to see how these separate pieces, often separated by years, fit together. The long answer has to do with money and ego. Let’s go with the short answer!

You’ve seen firsthand how fame has affected well-known athletes. What do believe is the biggest challenge they face as their popularity grows?

I would say that whether someone is famous (or not) has basically no bearing on their interior life, on their hopes and dreams, while their fame is the single most important and difficult-to- navigate part of their exterior life. This almost inevitably leads to a growing chasm between how they see themselves and how they are seen, and the real risk then is to avoid, as John Updike said, the mask eating the face.

You make an interesting statement in the book’s preface when you say you are using its platform to make a “public vow. . .  that (you) will learn from the people (you are) writing about.” Please explain why it was important for you to announce that to your readers.

The main thing I wanted the preface to do was explain how these stories fit together, and what the journey of making them felt like from the inside. I get to spend a lot of time up close and personal with the most driven, successful people on the planet, and I see which of their decisions they are content with, and which ones haunt them; there is no excuse if I am not going to school on their successes and failures.

The last story in the book (titled “Holy Ground”) is an homage to your father and your relationship with him. Tell us about this piece.

It’s a story about my late father, Walter Thompson, from Bentonia. The specifics of the story are about our shared love of watching golf and my regrets over not understanding that time is limited and fleeting and slipping through our fingers every day.

I go to Bentonia sometimes, to see the house where he grew up, and visit the White Front; recently I walked the old football field where he used to play, which is now abandoned, and I tried to imagine a young man there, with his family in the stands, and standing on that grass I wondered what of that young man remains in this place and what lives inside me and what is gone forever. That’s what the story is about. That search.

Briefly, tell me about the thought-provoking title of your book.

It’s a lyric from a Drive-By Truckers song I really like, one that has always moved me more than the collection of words suggested it should. I don’t know why it hit me like that. To me, the title is about the shared price everyone who wants something desperately and at the expense of other things in their life will pay for that dream, should they be one of the rare lucky few to actually reach it.

Wright Thompson will be at Lemuria on Tuesday, June 18, at 5:00 p.m. to sign and discuss The Cost of These Dreams.

Author Q & A with Michael Ford

Interview by Jana Hoops. Special to the Clarion-Ledger Sunday print edition (June 2)

Pennsylvania native Michael Ford will tell you that his “snap decision” nearly 50 years ago–to ditch a dream job offer in Massachusetts, uproot his family, and move to Oxford, Miss. to pursue a hunch–turned out to be the best decision he ever made, as he launched his dreams that would ignite a successful and fulfilling career.

Now a filmmaker in Washington, D.C., Ford’s photo essays in his new book North Mississippi Homeplace: Photographs and Folklife (University of Georgia Press) reveal his passionate reverence for the area he has come to call his “homeplace.”

The unique volume contains only two chapters: one about moving to rural Mississippi and living in Oxford from 1972 to 1975; and the other explaining what brought him back multiple times four decades later. It includes scores of color photos taken during both periods. Ford notes that all these images–taken decades apart–invariably settled into three main themes: the land, the light and the people.

The materials he recorded for the documentary film he produced during his Mississippi stay are now archived in the American Folklife Center at the Library of Congress as The Michael Ford Mississippi Collection.

During your first trip to visit in-laws in Oxford in December 1971, you made a quick decision to leave a secure teaching position at Boston’s Emerson College and move to Oxford with the idea of making a documentary film. Explain how this came about.

Michael Ford

I was working on my thesis film for my master’s program in film at Boston University. We had to design a master’s project and I had considered something about rural America, maybe in Vermont or New Hampshire.

When I began exploring the land (around the outskirts of Oxford) during that Christmas break, I had no reference for what I saw–the remoteness, the country shacks, the hogs’ legs hoisted in tree branches for gutting. I had studied (photography history) and I knew things like this shouldn’t exist in America anymore. I had done hard news for two years, and I knew there was a story here.

So, four months later, here I was, a Yankee, driving into Mississippi in an old VW bus with a peace sign on it and New York plates. I was just beginning to figure out that everyone might not like us so much. I began settling in with a deep immersion into the Mississippi hill country. I started reading Faulkner. I spent maybe six months driving and talking to people, getting a cold drink, and sometimes taking their pictures.

My number one anchor to the community was (Oxford blacksmith) Mr. (Morgan Randolph) Hall, who hired me as his apprentice. Number two was Hal Waldrip, who owned and ran an archaic general store in Chulahoma, Miss. He saw himself as one of the “keepers of the lore.” He told me, “I could fix this store up. I could add air conditioning and heat and clean it up. But it would lose some of the atmosphere.”

There were others–Doc Jones, who sold molasses at Waldrip’s store; AG Newson, who actually made the molasses with the help of his mules, Frank and Jake.
These were the people I found. They found me. They were important because they were all preserving this last flash of old times.

Tell me what you discovered about Mississippi–and yourself–as you began to capture the images in your book.

I had no idea this kind of life still existed in the U.S. anymore. I was making an independent documentary. You couldn’t make any preconceived ideas about where it was going. It designed itself. You can shape and interpret it, but you can’t invent it.

I realized that in a concrete sense when it came time to write it. It was the essence of the documentary–the experiences of the intuitive or spiritual side of life–that I wanted to share.

So, one of the things I had to learn as a documentarian was to shut up, that is, shut up the (analytical) left side of the brain, so the (creative) right side can do what it needs to do. I learned over the years that the best situation I could ask for was to shoot something and say, “I got it!” You just know. Words define a thing, but a photograph speaks for itself.

You write that your return visits to Mississippi in 2013-2015 were initially driven by nostalgia and curiosity. How did these trips of new discovery turn out?

What really sparked it were several things that came together at once. My grown daughter, who was a baby when we moved to Oxford, was insisting I do something with my film and audiotapes from Mississippi before I “croaked,” in her words; and technology had advanced to a point that I could do much of the work myself. That stuff had sat for 40 years in cans and boxes in my closets–not forgotten, but definitely ignored.

While reviewing old audio tapes, I listened to a recording of Mr. Hall talking to me. Out of nostalgia I Googled his name and (wound up getting) in touch with Andy Waller, an apprentice of Mr. Hall’s after I left Oxford. Andy had bought Mr. Hall out when he retired.

(That conversation) convinced me there was no doubt it was time to return . . . That was in April 2013. I’ve been back another half dozen times since then.

What I discovered was that it was different. The country people were gone, especially the older people. The sense of community had diminished. Today, even as far out as you can go in the country, you have can have a TV satellite and the internet. Having a place where people get together is difficult. There is not a downtown in most of these communities anymore.

The old way of life was mostly gone forever.

What did you ultimately learn from this whole unique experience, and how has it affected your life and career?

Two answers: one would be “everything.” It has affected everything. I lived where I’ve lived and done what I’ve done all because of it. I started my own film production company, Yellow Cat Productions, which I’ve had for 45 years. Maybe it taught me that I learned to take risks.

On our 1972 trip headed (from Massachusetts) to move to Mississippi, we stopped in New York and visited with (a friend). At that time, it felt in some ways like we were going to a land of darkness, chasing something I barely knew existed and wasn’t sure what to expect.

I told (my friend) that I wasn’t really sure why I should do this, and she said, “Why not?”

Everything changed at that instant. It was like I got it. I learned that when you look back, you see that it’s the single microseconds, not the big bangs, that change the course of a life.

I see the world in patterns, visually, and this is the way Mississippi works in my mind. Mississippi has a special place in this world.

Author Q & A with Julia Phillips

Interview by Jana Hoops. Special to the Clarion-Ledger Sunday print edition (May 26)

As a Brooklyn native who spent her college years studying the Russian language and who has long been fascinated with true stories of crime and violence–especially those within an ethnic or gender context–writer Julia Phillips presents Disappearing Earth, her debut novel that describes in detail how the effects of one heart-wrenching crime touches an entire Russian community.

Phillips is a Fulbright scholar who holds a special interest in the Russian peninsula of Kamchatka. After visiting the sparsely populated and fiercely rugged (thanks to the ravages of earthquakes and volcanic eruptions) area, she decided this was “an ideal place to disappear.” The book describes the abduction of two young girls and the yearlong process of local strangers who, in their own ways, were all affected by the crime.

Today she’s back in Brooklyn, working on a new novel that she says will take place “a little closer to home.”

Since this is your debut book, please tell me a little bit about yourself.

Julia Phillips

Though I wrote this book about Russia, I’ve spent my whole life in pretty much the same area of the United States. When I was born, my family was living in Brooklyn, but we moved to New Jersey when I was four years old. I came back to New York City to go to college–I went to Barnard, a small women’s college that’s part of Columbia University–and have been here ever since.

All that time, I’ve dreamed of being a novelist. My short stories, essays, and articles have appeared in different literary magazines and outlets including The Atlantic and Slate. The first story I ever published was in a tiny online journal in 2009. This book coming out now, a decade later, is a dream come true.

The format of Disappearing Earth is unique in that it begins with the abduction of two young girls, with each chapter (beginning in August when the girls were taken) titled chronologically by the names of the 11 months in which the book takes place, ending the next July. Nearly every chapter introduces new characters who relate how this crime touches their lives. When you were first developing this book, is this how you originally planned to present the plot, and why?

Yes, this structure was very much the plan from the start. I’m an avid reader and watcher of missing-person stories like the ones on Law & Order: Special Victims Unit, but the stories that most excite me are those that show the relationships between individual acts and larger systems. I don’t want to hear only about a single perpetrator and victim–I want to know about the families, neighbors, witnesses, investigators, and politicians involved. How did this terrible thing happen? A person decided to hurt someone else, but who else knew about that decision? Who did or didn’t try to help the person who was hurt? Looking at that larger context can turn a shocking headline into a real, resonant experience that illuminates the power structures that surround us.

A situation like the one in this book, where two girls go missing for so long, doesn’t just involve one person. It reaches many. And so, I wanted Disappearing Earth to tell the story of a whole community affected by this one act. Every chapter focuses on a different woman in order to explore the ways violence comes into women’s lives, ranging from the rare and highly publicized, such as an abduction by a stranger, to the everyday and often ignored, such as a toxic relationship or a doctor’s appointment gone wrong. These different hurts echo each other, overlap, and end up connecting the characters in ways they never anticipated. Ultimately, their connections are the key to understanding this crime.

The book is set in the Kamchatka Peninsula of Russia, an area not familiar to many of us, but a thought-provoking lesson in its long-held ethnic tensions. Tell me about your knowledge of and interest in this region, and why you chose it as your setting.

I studied the Russian language through college, and Kamchatka was always mentioned in our classes as a distant, magical place. It’s a remote volcanic peninsula cut off from mainland Russia. During the Soviet Union, no foreigners were allowed to go there, but since the Berlin Wall’s collapse, it’s become a global destination for adventure tourism. Socially, politically, geographically, Kamchatka is full of extremes. The more I learned about it, the more the region’s isolation, natural beauty, and dynamic history appealed. By the time I went to Kamchatka for over a year to write this book, I was convinced: this was the perfect setting for an enormous locked-room mystery.

Tell me about the title of the book. There are a few references in the story about a “piece of earth that disappeared.” How does the phrase explain or reinforce the story?

When we first meet the two young girls who will go missing, one is telling the other the tale of a tsunami that swept a whole cliffside town off Kamchatka. Only a few pages later, these girls are also swept away by something out of their control. That tsunami story represents so much loss experienced in this novel: the girls are abducted; the women around them don’t trust their surroundings; the peninsula itself is risky, prone to earthquakes, landslides, and volcanic eruptions; the community is still reeling from the collapse of their entire nation in 1991. These characters are walking on unsteady ground. Anything and anyone might disappear next.

Without giving it away, can you tell why you chose the unique ending that wraps up the story? It’s a stirring departure from the style of the rest of Disappearing Earth.

In the year that follows the girls’ disappearance, this novel explores so many different characters. It was important to me that no matter where the narrative ranges, we maintain our connection to those two missing girls. We are invested with them in the start and we need to know what happened to them in the end. It wouldn’t feel right any other way.

After all, I wrote Disappearing Earth not only to investigate what violence and loss look like in a community but also to argue for that community’s ability to grow, find closure, and heal. All these people on Kamchatka are hurting because of this one crime. Chapter by chapter, they connect to each other, seeking answers. Those links are meaningful to the characters, as they help each other through their daily lives, and to us readers, as we wish for the girls’ abduction to be solved. My hope is that the book’s ending affirms the importance of those connections and gives us all the satisfaction we were looking for.

Julia Phillips will be at Lemuria on Wednesday, May 29, at 5:00 p.m. to sign and discuss Disappearing Earth. Lemuria has chosen Disappearing Earth as its June 2019 selection for its First Editions Club for Fiction.

Author Q & A with Barry Gifford

Interview by Jana Hoops. Special to the Clarion-Ledger Sunday print edition (May 19)

Chicago native Barry Gifford began writing at age 11 – partly because his childhood (mostly spent living in hotels around the country, including the old Heidelberg in Jackson) offered up a constant cast of “characters” with their own endless stories to tell.

His long career has included more than 40 works of everything from poetry to fiction, nonfiction and screenplays–in addition to journalistic writing.
Gifford’s latest pair of readers include cozy “reruns” of familiar stories that have been reformatted to make it easier for old and new fans to binge-read some of his best work at a relaxed pace.

Southern Nights offers up a Southern Gothic trilogy while Sailor and Lula: Expanded Edition places all eight installments of this couple’s romance and adventures in one laid-back volume.

“My sense of narrative really came from watching late night black and white films on television and growing up in hotels, mostly among adults,” Gifford said. “I was able to listen to all of their stories, make up my own and absorb a variety of dialects. Moving around added to the mix. Being in the company of my father’s friends, most of whom had dubious occupations, served to supply the intrigue.”

His works of fiction, non-fiction, and poetry have appeared in many publications, including The New Yorker, Esquire, La Nouvelle Revue Française, El País, La Republica, Rolling Stone, Film Comment, El Universal, and the New York Times. He has received awards from PEN, the National Endowment for the Arts, the American Library Association, the Writers Guild of America, and the Christopher Isherwood Foundation.

His film credits include Wild at Heart, Perdita Durango, Lost Highway, City of Ghosts, Ball Lightning, and The Phantom Father. He has also written librettos for operas composed by Toru Takemitsu, Ichiro Nodaira, and Olga Neuwirth.

Today Gifford lives in California.

Below, he shares comments about his newest releases.

Tell me about your dichotomous growing-up years [living in both the “Deep South” (and including here in Jackson) and in the “Far North,” a.k.a. Chicago] and how this has influenced your writing through the decades.

Barry Gifford

I was born in Chicago and moved to Key West, Fla., with my mother before I was a year old. She had health problems and was advised to live in milder climate. My father kept an apartment in the Hotel Nacional in Havana, so we visited him there.

Later I spent time in Tampa with an uncle who lived there; then my mother, after she divorced my father, had boyfriends in New Orleans and Jackson, so we spent time there and in Chicago, where I went to high school.

We lived mostly in hotels, including the old Heidelberg Hotel in Jackson.

Your recently released Southern Nights trilogy is a package of your Southern Gothic novels Night People, Arise and Walk, and Baby Cat-Face–packed with humor and drama lived out in a strange and straightforward sense of reality. When were each of these novels originally published, and how do their stories still apply to American culture today?

The Southern Nights trilogy was published as separate novels during the 1990s. They deal in an often satirical but deadly serious way with racism and fundamentalist religion. They’re tough, funny, and often violent, just like America.

Sailor and Lula: Expanded Edition is your newest release and contains every Sailor and Lula novel in the collection, including the eighth and last one, The Up-Down. How can you explain the enduring likability of these characters, despite their flaws, among your readers?

Sailor and Lula have been described as the Romeo and Juliet of the Deep South. I hope people keep reading about them as long as they keep reading Shakespeare.

You’ve had a long and incredibly successful career as a writer in several different genres (poetry, fiction, nonfiction, screen writing) and have developed a loyal following through the years. What do you think has continued to draw readers to your work?

I write in different forms about what interests me and never talk down to the reader. I like to think that, once in a while, I come close to telling the truth.

What can readers expect to see in future Barry Gifford works?

It’s possible that Sailor and Lula may be appearing soon in a TV series, with which I may have something to do. And I’ve got a novel-in-progress about Cassie Angola, a young African-American woman who appears as a little girl in the last of the Sailor and Lula novels, The Up-Down. Ask me this question again after I finish it!

I see that your current book tour includes just a handful of cities. I know you spent some of your childhood in Jackson, but you spent parts of your childhood in lots of places! How did Jackson make that limited list?

I’ve known (Lemuria Book store owner) John Evans for close to 30 years, and . . . for me, he represents the best of Jackson. Lemuria Books is a treasure.

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

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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