Tag: Clarion-Ledger (Page 17 of 25)

‘Sweet & Low’ is newest book from emerging southern writer Nick White

By Bryce Upholt. Special to the Clarion-Ledger Sunday print edition (June 17)

Sweet & Low, the new collection of stories by rising young writer Nick White, revives an old tradition: its pages are filled with exiled Southerners and new arrivals trying to grapple with what to make of this strange place.

The plots of White’s stories, when summarized, sound like the standard fare of short literary fiction. Lovers endure a strained vacation in the touristy Tennessee mountains; an angry father stares down his impending death; a young boy makes a brave choice that results in an uncomfortable coming of age. But in White’s hands, these small personal dramas are spiked with edgy hilarity.

The book’s first section, “Heavenly Bodies,” is a tour-de-force quartet. The four stories together showing that a singular, distinct voice can nonetheless span a range of settings and tones.

White delights in unexpected turns and outsize characters. “These Heavenly Bodies,” a highlight story, features an unexpected set of stars: drop-dead gorgeous Siamese twin teenagers who strut about in a bikini at the local pool. They are at once mythical and absolutely real.

The second, longer section is really a short novel in stories. The stories are connected by Forney Culpepper, whose family arrived in the Delta three generations back. That’s not long enough to be deemed true locals by their neighbors, he says—though it seems just as likely that the trouble is the family’s atheism and its unorthodox living arrangements.

We first meet Forney as a troubled child and see him through to his still-troubled old age. An aspiring writer, a rakish lover, a frequent failure, Forney contains multitudes. The stories’ different narrators offer such different visions of Forney that at times it took a few pages before I recognized the man.

Forney is sometimes charming, sometimes sympathetic—and often an unrepentant jerk. Those shifts can be frustrating, but they are the point. There are so many versions of each of us, known by the many people we have met.

The title of this section, “The Exaggerations,” references an uncle of Forney’s who likes to whip up tales—not for the sake of conveying morals or lessons, Forney tells us, but because he wants “to shape the world into something better than it [is].”

White, in the tradition of the great Mississippi writer Lewis Nordan, is attempting the same. Not that he avoids the harsh truths of the world. His exaggerations—his over-the-top humor, his eccentric characters—function like the sunglasses we wear to look at a solar eclipse. White’s South is complex, hard to square, and full of pain. You’ve got to shield yourself before you can look at the blaze of that truth.

White’s warmly reviewed debut novel, How to Survive a Summer, depicted the traumatic consequences of a young man’s summer at a conversion-therapy camp in the Mississippi Delta, which aimed to cure its campers of their gayness.

In this collection, too, characters in every story are—to use the word that White embraces—queer. Which is an important and fresh addition to the Southern canon.
Queer need not mean the characters are gay, necessarily. It’s just that his or her notions, from what bodies he finds alluring to how she wants to live her life, don’t find into simple constraints.

But whose notions do? We’re all queer in our own ways, even if the label might make some of us squirm. White is often praised as an important, emerging queer writer, and as evidence the emergence of the New South. But with stories this strong, it’s just as fair to call him one of the country’s most promising young fiction writers, too.

Boyce Upholt is a freelance writer based in the Mississippi Delta. His journalism and fiction has appeared in The Atlantic, The New Republic, and the Sewanee Review, among other publications.

Nick White will appear at the Mississippi Book Festival August 17 as a participant in the “LBGTQ+: Southern Perspectives” panel at 2:45 p.m. in State Capitol Room 113.

Join in on ‘The Jazz Pilgrimage of Gerald Wilson’ by Steven Loza

By Jordan Nettles. Special to the Clarion-Ledger Sunday print edition (June 10)

Mississippi is often seen as the birthplace of American music. Many Mississippi musicians have achieved international fame, while others remain well-kept and beloved secrets. Regardless, each musician enriches the cultural heritage of the state while leaving a mark on genres like the blues, jazz, country, rock, and more.

The Jazz Pilgrimage of Gerald Wilson (University Press of Mississippi) by Steven Loza features a Shelby native who made immense contributions to jazz. Part biography and part musical analysis, this book explores the robust life and work of a jazz legend who has, up until now, been largely overlooked. The Jazz Pilgrimage of Gerald Wilson is an essential step in recognizing this master musician, arranger, composer, educator, and bandleader.

Gerald Wilson (1918-2014) was born in a region of the United States that is well-known for its music: the Mississippi Delta. Wilson became “very obsessed with jazz” at a young age and embarked on a self-described “jazz pilgrimage.” This artistic journey took him around the world and brought him into the same circle as influential jazz figures like Jimmie Lunceford, Duke Ellington, Ella Fitzgerald, and Dizzy Gillespie.

Sources for this book range from liner notes and essays to interviews and a spoken word CD. Loza weaves all of these into a seamless narrative, creating a vivid picture of Wilson’s life. The book includes stories from every stage of Wilson’s career, from his time playing in the Navy Band to his ten albums with Pacific Jazz Records.

The interviews between Loza and Wilson are engaging for any general reader. In the interview chapters, Wilson describes his life in his own words and Loza adds poignant context. Later in the book, Loza offers detailed analyses of some of Wilson’s compositions, which will especially appeal to jazz scholars and students.

In his life and work, Wilson searched for “new ideas” and challenged the boundaries around him. Stylistically, Wilson incorporated musical progressions that no jazz musician had used before. Wilson’s unique sound was partly inspired by his Mexican-American wife and partly inspired by the bullfighters that fascinated him. He blended traditional jazz and Latin American music styles to create a sound that inspired listeners—and musicians—regardless of their race or music genre. One of Wilson’s most well-known pieces, “Viva Tirado,” was eventually recorded by the Latin rock group El Chicano and later adapted into a rap by Kid Frost.

Wilson’s desire for progress was not restricted to his music. He pushed against racial segregation around the country, once telling his band, “Tonight, we’re going to break the color line,” before leading them into a Las Vegas casino in the 1950s. At the conclusion of the book, Jeri Wilson, one of Gerald Wilson’s daughters, describes her father’s pride in being a jazz musician and an African American. His pride and passion for both are impossible to miss in The Jazz Pilgrimage of Gerald Wilson.

Gerald Wilson believed in the power of jazz music, and music in general, to connect people. Wilson’s music certainly brought people together in many different ways. If you are not currently familiar with Gerald Wilson, get ready. This book will likely make you a fan.

Jordan Nettles is a graduate of The University of Southern Mississippi and the Columbia Publishing Course in New York.

Author Q & A with Silas House

Interview by Jana Hoops. Special to the Clarion-Ledger Sunday print edition (June 17)

As the nationally bestselling author of five novels who holds a coveted membership in the Fellowship of Southern Writers, Silas House shares what may be his most personal story yet with the recent release of Southernmost.

His new novel chronicles the path of Asher Sharp, a Tennessee minister whose struggle with his brother’s “coming out” finally forces a decision for the small-town preacher that results in chaotic consequences for his congregation and his marriage–and threatens his relationship with son. Sharp spontaneously decides to head to Key West, the southernmost point in the country, to search for his brother and seek a long-awaited resolution.

A former commentator for NPR’s All Things Considered, House is the recipient of three honorary doctorates, and is the winner of the Nautilus Award, an E. B. White Award, the Appalachian Book of the Year, the Hobson Medal for Literature, and many other honors.

He is a frequent contributor to The New York Times, and his work has appeared in the Oxford American, Narrative, Blackbird, Newsday and other publications.

Tell me, briefly, what your childhood in Appalachia was like, and how it affected your writing.

Silas House

I grew up in a really tight-knit family and we were taught to wear our Southernness–our ruralness–as a badge of honor. In many ways it was a pretty romantic childhood because I was able to roam the woods and I knew everyone in my community really well. I was always surrounded by family or people who loved me like family.

But my father was a Vietnam vet with PTSD and we were very immersed in the evangelical church, and both of those things were instrumental in shaping my worldview. Not to mention that I was a really sensitive boy who loved to read. I loved basketball, too, but my big secret was that I loved books more.

You are the recipient of many writing awards, some of which are mentioned above. What did it mean to you to be inducted into the Fellowship of Southern Writers last fall?

To be welcomed in amongst some of the people who influenced me the most was really humbling, and especially to know how amazing it is to be a part of such a literary tradition. I’m really proud to say I’m a Southern writer. To me that always has only a good connotation, and one reason is because I really do believe we fellowship in a different way than other regions of the country. I don’t mean to generalize, but there is a generosity and a spirit of encouragement that exists among Southern writers that is special.

You new novel, Southernmost, is set in the South, and in an essay that you wrote about this book, you state that the South is “a whole lot like the rest of the country. Injustice and intolerance exist here, and everywhere.” You go on to say that “By looking at this microcosm of America called the South with such focus, we can more clearly see our whole nation in a moment when we are in dire need of understanding one another.” Explain how this is so.

I think people think of things like homophobia, racism, misogyny, xenophobia, and the like, and they think that’s more rampant in the South or among rural people. I don’t think it is. I think it’s exhibited in a different way. And this idea that country people, or Southerners, or more prejudiced lets the rest of the country off the hook.

Injustice exists everywhere in this country and I get tired of it all being blamed on us. It’s a national problem, not a regional one, and I think we’d be better served to look at it that way instead of always just shifting blame. I’ve lived in the South my whole life but the worst physical homophobia I’ve suffered has been in New York City and Chicago.

In Southernmost, main character Asher Sharp is a minister struggling to come to grips with where he stands on issues of sexuality, as a church leader, father, husband–and brother to Luke, who had come out as a gay man 10 years earlier. It seems the reactions of his wife and church members, compared with others, depict two strong reactions to a gay lifestyle: those who are either fully accepting or strongly opposed. Have you found, though, that there is somewhat of a middle ground in which many are wrestling with aligning their faith with such an acceptance?

I would say that most people are in that middle ground, and that’s one reason I wrote the book from a straight person’s point of view, instead of writing another coming out story. The main character, Asher, is often questioning just how prepared he is to be totally accepting of gay lives, although he is definitely far more evolved on the issue than his wife, who is totally opposed.

To me, he’s representative of a whole lot of people right now who want very badly to fully embrace everything about a family member, but still have that little nagging voice in the backs of their minds saying, “But what if they kiss?”

One of the things I enjoyed most was working on Asher’s interiority where he’s struggling with things like that. His mother-in-law, Zelda, is probably the best representative of that middle, though–she’s been taught to shun gay people her whole life, yet her natural inclination is to be good to everyone. And her wishy-washiness really costs her an important relationship in the book.

Tell me about your decision to write this book now. How long was it in the making, and what did you want it to convey?

I worked on this book off and on for about eight or nine years. During that time, I wrote a short middle grade novel, Same Sun Here, but for almost the last decade this has been the most important thing to me. It’s a book that I really felt compelled to write. I couldn’t stop thinking about these characters. Over that time the issue really evolved. For example, in 2015, when marriage equality passed, I had to re-write the entire book.

So now it is set mostly during the summers of 2015 and 2016. It’s about as contemporary as you can get in a novel. And in a way I think the book is far more relevant now than when I was writing it. Since the election a lot of Americans have had to think about how fundamentally they disagree with the very people they love the most. LGBTQ people have been dealing with that issue forever. And that’s one of the themes in the book, the ability to love one another despite strongly disagreeing.

Growing up as a gay person, your Pentecostal parents accepted your sexuality even though it was opposed to their church’s teaching. Did that surprise you–and would you explain how this spiritual influence affected you?

Well, that was a very long process. It was about 10 years after I came out before my parents and I were on the same page. I really admire their ability to grow and think outside the box of their own church on this issue. To me, it’s a real testament to someone’s character when they’re able to do that kind of self-examination and question themselves on whether they believe something in their hearts or if they just believe something because they’ve been taught that by others their whole lives.

Water seems to be a theme in Southernmost, with destructive flooding, rain, the Gulf of Mexico, and the ocean off the Florida Keys serving as important elements to the story. Is there a symbolism here that you could explain?

I never really think about symbolism when I’m writing at all. To me, that has to be something that is completely organic. So, when a novel is finished, those symbols and metaphors start to show themselves and water is definitely omnipresent in the book. I think the main reason is because water is absolutely the essence of life. If any tangible thing on earth could represent the Divine, I guess water would be the best. And that goes hand in hand with these characters who are all thinking about the Divine in one way or another, either struggling against belief or doubt.

Is there anything else you’d like to include, about the book or your own personal life?

One thing I love about the book is that I got to capture the act of driving across the South. One of my favorite sections in the book is when Asher and (his son) Justin are driving from Tennessee to Florida. I made that drive a couple times while writing and I was so happy to preserve so many of the church signs and roadside stands selling peaches and watermelons, and even people I saw along the way–the homeless man holding a ‘hungry” sign, the Cherokee woman being harassed as she walked into a truck stop, the children catching a fish on the pier, a wealth of friendly cashiers. I love driving in the South in the summertime; it’s like a meditation. To me, that’s when I love it the most.

Are you already working on another writing project at this time?

I always have a few projects going at once. Right now, I’m toying with the idea of a big family epic, which I’ve always wanted to write, and I’m trying to wrangle a play about Mary Todd Lincoln.

Silas House will be at Lemuria on Tuesday, June 19, at 5:00, to sign and read from Southermost.

Author Q & A with Andrew Lawler

Interview by Jana Hoops. Special to the Clarion-Ledger Sunday print edition (June 10)

Author and journalist Andrew Lawler admits that, from the beginning, he was warned.

Because he had grown up immersed in the story of the lost colony of Roanoke, he expected immunity to the possibility he would get “sucked in,” as a friend put it, to the mystery of what happened to the 115 men, women, and children who landed on Roanoke Island off the coast of what is now North Carolina, in 1587.

Although the settlers were on a mission to establish the first English colony in the New World, they disappeared without a trace while their leader was away on a six-month resupply trip that had stretched into three years. They left only one clue–a “secret token” carved on a tree.

The question of their fate still haunts historians and archaeologists, and Lawler’s own literal journey to examine the ominous expedition resulted in his new book, The Secret Token: Myth, Obsession, and the Search for the Lost Colony of Roanoke. What he found, he concludes, offers fresh understanding as to why this mystery is relevant in today’s America.

Lawler is also the author of Why Did the Chicken Cross the World? and is a contributing writer for Science magazine and a contributing editor for Archaeology magazine. His writing has appeared in The New York TimesThe Washington PostNational Geographic, and other publications.

When did you first develop an interest in the lost colony of Roanoke?

Let’s just say that I had no choice. As a child growing up in southeastern Virginia, not far from Jamestown, there was no escaping history. Figures like John Smith and Thomas Jefferson were regularly mentioned at the dinner table.

On our annual beach trip, my family went to the Outer Banks of North Carolina. This was back in the days when the only nightly entertainment was bingo and a dance hall. The third option was to see The Lost Colony, the three-plus-hour outdoor drama in the buggy woods of nearby Roanoke Island. We sat on hard wooden benches amid the mosquitoes as the organ blared, Indians danced, and sweating English soldiers marched around in breastplates.

It is one of the longest-running plays in American history, and it certainly seemed never-ending to me as a child. Written in the 1930s and performed ever since, it told teh story of the three voyages to the Outer Banks by the English in the 1580s, culminating in the arrival of the final group that today we call the “Lost Colonists.”

There was just enough action to keep a kid interested–plenty of sword fights, fireworks, and firearms going off. But what really fascinated me was the end, when all the settlers go marching off into the woods, hungry and ragged but singing bravely. Then it was our turn, as the audience filed out down the dark path to the parking lot. This was the very place where the Roanoke colonists vanished, and when I was small, that visceral quality of getting lost here struck me with terror. I was relieved to crawl into the back of the station wagon.

As a teenager, fascination replaced the terror. I devoured everything I could find about the colony, reading first-hand accounts and poring over John White’s beautiful watercolors of the Native Americans. But since there was no new evidence to solve the mystery, there seemed nothing fresh to say. Then a few years ago I ran into a British archaeologist while covering a conference at (The University of) Oxford for a magazine. When he told me that he was digging on Hatteras Island, I knew immediately what he was after. Then I found out another team was hard at work digging at another site where the colonists may have gone. Finally, there were new clues emerging. It was a chance to see a childhood mystery solved. Once again, I was hooked.

It seems, from some things mentioned in your book, that you took somewhat of a literary risk by writing The Secret Token. Did you ever doubt that you were doing the right thing?

Andrew Lawler

At first, I was plain embarrassed. I’d spent more than a decade covering the devastating cultural heritage tragedy still unfolding in the Middle East–the looting of the Iraq Museum, the Taliban efforts to wreck Afghan statues, and the ongoing destruction of ancient sites in Syria. Writing about a few dead Elizabethans seemed almost absurdly irrelevant. And when I brought up the “Lost Colony,” more than one historian smirked. It was all so wrapped up in cheesy pop culture, and most serious academics gave the entire episode a wide berth.

I thought I would just do a quick online story, but then it turned into a full-fledged magazine story. Then I realized that I was amassing so much material that it had to be a book. I’ve learned that when I have sinking feeling in my gut–the “Oh, no, anything but that” feeling, then I have hit on the story that I have to tell.

There are many theories about the fate of the English colonists who were never found. In your opinion, which one is the most outlandish? Most reasonable?

My personal favorite is that the colonists turned into zombies that are still out there in those spooky Roanoke woods. Alien abduction is another. Of course, there are can’t -be-proven theories–that they sailed away on their small ship and drowned. We know now that  a severe drought afflicted that time period, and some argued they starved to death. But when you look at later “lost” Europeans, most of them simply deserted to or were captured by Native Americans. As Benjamin Franklin noted, few wanted to return, even if they were taken by force. This was what I call colonial America’s dirty little secret.

So, it seems pretty obvious that if you are hungry and don’t know how to survive in a strange environment, you will find people who know what they are doing–and in this case, that was the local Native American population. Eastern North Carolina was filled with thousands of people who thrived in villages and towns, planting crops while also gathering plants and hunting animals. The English didn’t land in a wilderness. So, most historians who have studied the Roanoke voyages agree they did what most of us likely would do–hang out with the people who could make sure you were fed, kept warm, and protected from enemies. In return, they had skills the Indians wanted, like how to make metal implements.

You traveled to Portugal to research the life of the pilot Fernandes. What was the most important thing you learned on this trip, and did you travel to other places for research?

This was a crazy effort to track down a bizarre rumor. The private papers of the Roanoke navigator Simao Fernandes were said to have surfaced in Portugal. A couple of American historians had tried and failed to verify the story, which promised to rewrite our entire understanding of the voyages, and I couldn’t resist the challenge. After running around Portugal and Spain pursuing every lead, I came up empty-handed. But as was always the case with following what seemed a dead end in this tale, I stumbled into something unexpected and important.

In this case, I found that Fernandes was not the villain he was portrayed to be, and that, in fact, he was quite possibly the real mind behind the entire project. He knew and understood the emerging global economy better than any Englishman of his day. And since Roanoke laid the foundation for Jamestown and all other English efforts that followed, you could say this obscure Portuguese pirate played a central role in launching both the United States and the British Empire.

You wrote that “In a nation fractured by views on race, gender, and immigration, we are still struggling with what it means to be American.” Explain in what ways gender issues are tied to this story.

A woman writer named Eliza Lanesford Cushing coined the term “Lost Colony” and made Virginia Dare a folk sensation in the 1830s. This was a moment when women’s magazines first appeared, and women writers like Cushing finally had outlets for their work. But American history at that time was exclusively about men, Betsy Ross being the exception proving the rule. Women were portrayed as bit players in Jamestown and Plymouth when they appeared at all. Men got the credit for “taming the wilderness.”

All we know about Virginia Dare was her name and when she was born and baptized, but her status as the first English child born in the Americas gave women a stake in the origin story of the United States. The Virginia Dare stories, though almost wholly fabricated, became wildly popular among women in the 19th century. They finally could see themselves in the drama that led to the nation’s founding.

Is there any hard evidence that the English settlers “chose” to adopt the Native American lifestyle, as some have suggested?

If they wanted to live, the settlers had to become Native Americans. When Europeans first arrived on the North American coast, they didn’t have the skills to survive, even when their ships regularly brought supplies. They depended on trading their goods with the locals for food. Without the indigenous peoples, all the early European settlements almost certainly would have failed.

Finding hard evidence for Lost Colony assimilation, however, is tricky. If they became Native American, would Jamestown settlers 20 years later have recognized them? Probably not. There certainly are hints that when John White came back in 1590, three years after leaving for England to get supplies, he was watched by people–perhaps including assimilated Lost Colonists who dreaded boarding a cramped and stinking ship for a long passage back to gloomy and plague-ridden London. But I pieced together circumstantial bits of evidence to make a what I think is a compelling case that the Elizabethans became Algonquian speakers–and that their most likely descendants ended up in a most surprising place.

Why is the story of the Lost Colony relevant today?

There are moments in the life of our nation when what it means to be American becomes hotly contested. This was true in the 1830s, when an influx of German and Irish shook up the majority Anglo-Americans. Certainly, during and after the Civil War we differed on whether African Americans could or should be full citizens.

A century ago, we decided women should be able to vote, though at the same time we didn’t generally considers of Italians or Jews to be “white.” In each of these periods, the story of the Lost Colony served as a fable reflecting these tensions. So it is today, with groups like Vdare Foundation warning whites about the dangers of being outnumbered by non-European immigrants. So, I can’t think of a more relevant story in today’s climate.

Do you have ideas in the works for an upcoming book?

I’m drawn to the ancient tales that seem to define how we see the world today. Right now, I’m spending time in the Middle East exploring the source of religious tension there. Few places on Earth are so driven by old stories, particularly those that many see as God-given.

Andrew Lawler will be at Lemuria on Wednesday, June 13, to sign and read from The Secret TokenThe Secret Token is Lemuria’s July 2018 selection for our First Editions Club for Nonfiction.

‘Deep South Dispatch’ is a behind-the-scenes look at 1960s civil rights movement

By Jim Ewing. Special to the Clarion-Ledger Sunday print edition (April 22)

John N. Herbers might not be a familiar name today, but during the height of the civil rights movement of the 1960s, his byline blazed in The New York Times.
Herbers died last year as his book Deep South Dispatch was being edited (and ably finished by his daughter, journalist Anne Farris Rosen). But many people—especially journalists and leaders of the movement—remember him for his lucid accounts of that turbulent period when he was on the front lines and often at great danger himself.

deep south dispatchSubtitled “Memoir of a Civil Rights Journalist,” Dispatch is a fascinating behind-the-scenes account of the arc of his reporting, from covering the Emmett Till trial, to the Birmingham church bombing, to marching with Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., to the Kennedy assassination. But it’s not merely a rehashing of old events.

Rather, Dispatch offers insights from a modern perspective, as well as conclusions Herbers made based on is reporting.

As Dispatch details, Herbers was not an “outside agitator,” as Mississippi politicians were wont to describe journalists back then. He was a son of the South, reared in various small towns mostly in the Memphis area, educated at Emory in Atlanta, with strong ties to Mississippi.

He began his journalism career after World War II first in Meridian, and then at the Jackson Daily News under fire-breathing publisher Fred Sullens. From there, he became bureau chief of the United Press (later United Press International) office in Jackson before going to the Times for the bulk of his writing. He was based in Atlanta, but traveled throughout the South and frequently visited his mother who lived in Crystal Springs.

Though from the South, he was at odds with the hate-filled tenor of the times. He believed his objectivity and penchant for journalism was a part of his peripatetic small-town upbringing, where “misfits” could not “escape into anonymity as they could in a city.”

Journalists, he wrote, are by nature and profession “the outlier who is always asking why.”

His love for Mississippi shines through, though, even as he was in anguish over its behavior in matters of race. Were it not for a few courageous voices against bigotry, such as Hodding Carter Sr., publisher of the Greenville Delta Democrat-Times, he wrote, “I think I would have fled Mississippi.”

Dispatch is full of names and places Mississippians remember both for good and ill. His writing is crisp and his life was Forrest Gump-like in his uncanny ability to be at signal moments. It’s encapsulated in such tales as his writing a story under a pecan tree with a manual typewriter on the top of his car at Fannie Lou Hamer’s house before going to interview powerful U.S. Sen. John O. Eastland at his plantation a few miles away.

He notes the ground-breaking reporting of Clarion Ledger reporter Jerry Mitchell that resulted in cold-case convictions of civil rights outlaws and one (of many) photographs includes him standing next to the late journalist Bill Minor of Jackson, himself worthy of note.

Dispatch is an informative, insightful, personal and telling memoir that pricks the conscience still. As he quoted Dr. King in talking about our own personal stances and how they reverberate into our culture, the greatest impediment to true justice in the world is not those oppose it, but those who are silent when they see it breached.

That’s what journalism and journalists are about, too.

Jim Ewing’s journalistic expertise as a writer and editor spans more than four decades, including The Clarion Ledger, the Jackson Daily News, and USA TODAY. A three-time winner of the J. Oliver Emmerich Award (the Mississippi Press Association’s highest honor for commentary), he has also won numerous national Best of Gannett and regional Associated Press Media Editors honors. He is the author of seven books, including his latest, Redefining Manhood.

Author Q & A with Jon Meacham

Interview by Jana Hoops. Special to the Clarion-Ledger Sunday print edition (June 3) and digital web edition

A Pulitzer Prize-winning presidential historian, biographer and frequent news commentator, Jon Meacham addresses the political and social divide America faces today by examining its “soul”—and he offers a calming reminder that, just as the nation has faced tough times in the past, it can overcome the current rancor.

soul of americaIn his newest title, The Soul of America: The Battle for Our Better Angels, Meacham reminds Americans of protectors Abraham assuredly said were on our side—he called them “the better angels of our nature”—and they have surely seen rougher times than we now experience, the author declares.

Meacham examines the people and times that facilitated turning points in American history, and he contends that “hope over fear” will, as it has in the past, guide the country through the present tumult.

Jon Meacham

Jon Meacham

Among his New York Times bestsellers is American Lion: Andrew Jackson in the White House, for which Meacham won the Pulitzer.

A former executive editor at Random House, Meacham is a contributing writer for The New York Times Book Review, a contributing editor at Time, and a fellow of the Society of American Historians.

He lives in Nashville with his wife and family and serves as a distinguished professor visiting professor at Vanderbilt University.

As a writer, you are known as a presidential historian. How did that role become yours, as you began to consider and write about so many American presidents?

As John Kennedy remarked, the presidency is the “vital center of action,” so the stories of the office and of the human beings who’ve held it are inherently important and typically interesting. If you live politics—and I do—then you kind of naturally gravitate upward to writing about the presidency.

Your new book takes a deep look at what you call the “soul” of America, and you define that “soul,” of a person or of a country, as being “the existence of an immanent collection of convictions, dispositions and sensitivities that shape the character and inform conduct.” This is an interesting concept that you describe as “ancient and perennial.” Could you explain it more simply, and why it is so important?
I think that’s pretty straightforward: the soul is our essence, whether we’re talking about a nation or a person. Some impulses are good; some are bad. Every moment is thus shaped by whether the better instincts triumph over the worst.

In The Soul of America, you examine what you believe to be the threats of the Trump presidency, and you make the case that America will “overcome” this period, as it has during previous hard times the country’s past. What do you believe are the biggest threats America faces under the Trump administration?

We have a president who eschews the conventions of power and declines to conduct himself with the dignity and the restraint we’ve come to expect. That’s his choice; he won, so he can do as he likes. But issuing threats about the legal system, or bullying people, or insisting that he’s right all the time and that any criticism of him is “fake” has the capacity to erode trust in our already-fragile institutions.

You examine great points in American history when the country “righted” itself and pulled through difficult times, but it always came at a great price. What do you think America needs to make that happen again?

I think we need to listen to each other more and be willing to acknowledge when the other side has a point or gets something right. And we have to remember that progress and prosperity in America tend to come when we favor the free flow of people, of ideas, and of goods. Openness isn’t a weakness; historically speaking, it’s a sign and a cause of economic and cultural strength and health.

I don’t remember a time when we as Americans haven’t heard every day that we are at a point in history in which politics is more divisive than it has ever been—and that trend, if it is one, doesn’t seem to be slowing down. Is it possible for America to become unified again?

Of course, it is. We were more divided in the 1850s and fought a war in the 1860s. The Klan was a national force in the 1920s. Joe McCarthy divided us in the 1950s. And Southerners know how violent and fraught things were after the Brown decision and well into the 1960s.

Mississippi is a state that voted for Trump by a large margin in the 2016 presidential election. What would you say to those voters about their agreement with some of his policies?

There’s plenty to agree with. As with other presidents, though, there’s also plenty to be skeptical about. He’s imperfect; be honest about that and work to encourage him to reach out beyond his base of support. Because I promise you this: history rewards presidents who govern for all, not just for those who vote for him.

Why was the 1916 painting by Childe Hassam Rainy Day, Fifth Avenue chosen for the cover of this book?

Because it’s a beautiful rendering of a patriotic moment and speaks to the hope of a nation that for all its flaws remains what Lincoln called the “last, best hope.”

You write about women’s suffrage, child labor and Jim Crow laws, etc. Most decent people today realize that those laws needed to be changed. One hundred years from now what causes or existing laws do you think may meet the same fate?

It’s less about specific laws today and more about the ladders to the middle class. We’ve got to find a way for more Americans to prosper and pursue happiness without unreasonable levels of fear about the future.

Your next book will be about James and Dolley Madison. Why did you choose this couple, and why are you writing about both?

Because they were a true team serving the ideals of America at a crucial and contentious time.

John Meachem will be at Lemuria on Thursday, June 14, at 12:00 p.m. to sign and read from The Soul of America. He will also be at the Mississippi Book Festival on Saturday, August 18, in conversation with Karl Rove.

Author Q & A with Joseph Crespino

Interview by Jana Hoops. Special to the Clarion-Ledger Sunday print edition (May 27)

A native of Macon, political historian Joseph Crespino has enjoyed a successful career as a writer whose books help to explain and interpret some of the most pivotal times and people of the American South, especially within the context of politics.

atticus finchHis most recent work, Atticus Finch, the Biography: Harper Lee, Her Father, and the Making of an American Icon, gives a thought-provoking case for the mostly understood assumption that the character of Atticus Finch in Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird and Go Set a Watchman is, indeed, her father, A.C. Lee.

Crespino ties up the details most readers have only speculated on about the Finch-Lee comparisons, and examines the truths about the real man, A.C.

A professor of history at Emory University in Atlanta, Crespino went on to earn a master’s degree from the University of Mississippi and a doctorate from Stanford University.

His other books include the political biography Strom Thurmond’s America and In Search of Another Country: Mississippi and the Conservative Counterrevoultion, which earned the nonfiction prize given by the Mississippi Institute of Arts and Letters, among other awards.

He talks about his Mississippi heritage.

Joe Crespino

Joe Crespino

“I’m from Noxubee County, where my mother’s side of the family has lived since the 1830s. My dad was from the Delta–he grew up in Benoit–and my parents met at Ole Miss, where my dad played on some of the best of Johnny Vaught’s legendary teams before going on to play in the NFL for eight seasons. My parents moved to Macon after my dad retired, and that’s where I was born and grew up.

“After graduating from college, I taught at Gentry High School in Indianola for two years as part of the Mississippi Teacher Corps and earned my master’s degree in secondary school education as part of that program. My wife, Caroline Herring Crespino, is from Canton.

Describe the character Atticus Finch in your own words.

Atticus Finch is a fictional character that should be understood in the full context of Harper Lee’s creative efforts–not merely as the upright, civic-minded figure who vigorously defends a wrongly accused black man in the 1930s, but also as a character in the 1950s South who is embittered over the changes being demanded by the modern civil rights movement. Exclusive sources that I gained access to in writing this book make clear that Harper Lee always imagined these two seemingly contradictory figures as different aspects of the same character, seen at different times, and through different lenses.

Summarize the real A.C. Lee for us, based only on his writing and actions.

Like Atticus Finch, A.C. Lee was a lawyer and state legislator from a small town in south Alabama. Unlike Atticus, A.C. was also the co-owner and editor of a small-town newspaper, the Monroe Journal, for nearly 18 years. I’ve read every one of the editorials he wrote over those years, and, through them, I’ve reconstructed A.C. Lee’s political worldview. Clearly, he was the inspiration both for the idealistic figure in To Kill a Mockingbird as well as the reactionary figure in Go Set a Watchman.

In your opinion, was A.C. Lee typical of the “educated” white Southern Christians of the time, torn between doing what he knows is right and trying to survive in a racist society?

Well, first off, A.C. Lee wasn’t well-educated, at least not in terms of formal schooling. He was born in 1880, and the highest grade he ever completed was eighth grade, although he was Lincoln-esque in his habits of reading and self-education.

Second, the typical white Southern Christian of the time was not “torn” in the way you describe–and neither was A.C. Lee–so, in that sense, he was typical. Lee had no trouble surviving in the racist society because he was white. I found no evidence that he had any doubts about the rightness of his racist, paternalistic view of blacks. That’s not to say that Lee wasn’t a moral person in many respects, but it’s wrong to assume that white Southern Christians of an earlier era had some moral sensibility in regard to race that they couldn’t act on without threatening their standing in society. It makes it sound like they were among the victims of the Jim Crow South, when, in fact, they were the chief defenders of it. One way A.C. Lee wasn’t typical was as a Christian. He was much more devout and sincere than any of the typical Christians I know, and count me among those typical Christians. He was a pillar of the Methodist Church in Monroeville. But, as was the case with all but a tiny minority of white Christians of his era, his religious faith was in no way in tension with his racial views. One of the most poignant stories in the book is how in the early 1950s, as chairman of the pastoral relations committee of the Monroeville Methodist Church, Lee engineered the ouster of a  young minister, Ray Whatley, who spoke too frankly about racial issues. Whatley was reassigned to a pulpit in Montgomery, right before the black community there started a boycott to protest segregation on city buses. Whatley volunteered to serve as president of the local Council on Human Relations. His vice-president was a young black minister new to town himself whose name was Martin Luther King Jr.

Harper’s two books, Mockingbird and Watchman, seem to show two different sides of Atticus Finch. Was this only  her attempt to show two different sides of the South at that time?

I don’t think that she was explicitly trying to show two different sides of the South, so much as she was struggling to try to reconcile them in her own mind. It seems to me that if she had really wanted to show that other side of Atticus, then she would have come back to Go Set a Watchman and tried to make that novel work in a more successful way. Why she never did that in the 1960s, or 70s, or 80s after the incredible success of Mockingbird, and when so much political and racial struggle was still taking place, is a fascinating question. I offer some thoughts in the epilogue of the book as to why that might have been.

In a 1964 radio interview, Harper Lee discusses why she thinks the South has produced so many great writers: Western European heritage, agrarian society, etc. Do you see any correlation between this and the racism that she writes about?

Yes. In Go Set a Watchman, the character of Uncle Jack expresses lots of hoary ideas about the ethnic homogeneity of the white South as key to its distinctiveness. There’s no reason to think that Harper Lee’s views on the subject were the same as Uncle Jack’s, but clearly, she knew all those old arguments, and I suspect that, like Jean Louise in Watchman, she was trying to figure out whether there was anything to them, or whether it was all just a bunch of bunk.

It has been reported that Mockingbird is a “highly revised version”of Watchman. What is your opinion?

It’s incorrect. Documents from the files of Lee’s publisher, HarperCollins, make this clear. Harper finished a draft of Go Set a Watchman and her agent shopped it around to various New York publishers. White he did that, she started writing a new novel that used the same characters, but moved the drama back some 20 years in time to the 1930s. She and her agent discussed how she could write a bridge that could connect these separate pieces, a reference that Lee’s representatives have taken to suggest that she has plans at one point for a trilogy.

The documentary record is quite murky on that point, but what is clear is that she always imagined Watchman and Mockingbird as distinct novels that connected as part of a larger narrative arc in the lives of these characters.

What drew your special interest in Harper Lee, Mockingbird, and Atticus Finch?

Many different things. One is that I grew up in a small Southern town like the one that Harper Lee was from. Another is that for a significant part of my life, I wanted to be Atticus Finch; a lot of earnest, well-intentioned white boys like myself, who were also naïve  and misguided, have chased that ghost for many decades now.

But in the last year or two, I came back to Harper Lee’s fiction because I think it has resonance for our own political moment. Harper Lee wrote her two books in the late 1950s South, at a time when right-wing, demagogic politicians–many of whom were nobodies, or political jokes in Southern politics only a few years earlier–won tremendous political power by appealing to the most base instincts of voters. I think her struggles in writing the character of Atticus Finch were part of her struggle to make sense of her father’s own conservative political heritage at a time when the conservatives had been overrun by right-wing reactionaries. Why didn’t folks like her father stand up for their principles when it really mattered?

Are you now working on a new book or other writing project?

I have at leas two other books in mind at this point. One is a history of Atlanta during the five or six years after Martin Luther King Jr. Moved back to his hometown from Montgomery. I imagine it as a book about prophets, and hometowns and unwelcomeness.

I also want to write a history of racial violence in Noxubee County, my home county.

Joe Crespino will be at Lemuria on Wednesday, June 6, at 5:00 p.m. to sign and read from Atticus Finch: The Biography.

Michael Ondaatje’s ‘Warlight’ is a brave map of London

By Paul Rankin. Special to the Clarion-Ledger Sunday print edition (May 27)

Since the 1972 publication of his first novel, Coming Through Slaughter–an impressionistic-historical fiction set in the seedy underworld of Storyville New Orleans and chronicling the various misadventures of legendary coronet player Buddy Bolden–Michael Ondaatje has firmly established himself among our finest living craftsmen.

Born in Sri-Lanka and based now in Canada, Ondaatje is the author of 20 books of poetry and prose including The English Patient (1992) and Anil’s Ghost (2000), each of which achieved a rare combination of critical acclaim and popular success.

warlightHis writings have won numerous awards and honors including the Booker Prize, the Prix Médicis, and the Irish Times International Fiction Prize. With such a superlative record, expectations naturally run high, and his latest novel, Warlight (Knopf) does nothing to disappoint.

Set in London in the immediate aftermath of WWII, Warlight centers on Nathaniel and Rachel, siblings for whom “life was still haphazard and confusing during that period.” As the story unfolds, we witness the residual effects of chaos and devastation in their lives.

From the opening scene when their parents announce they’ll be going away, leaving their children “in the care of two strangers who may have been criminals,” Nathaniel (the narrator) describes and populates a world where everyone and everything is suspect. Theirs was “a family with a habit for nicknames,” he notes, “which meant it was also a family of disguises.” Nothing is reliable; no one can be fully trusted.

Nathaniel’s fondest memory, in those bittersweet days before the abandonment, involves his mother engaged in “various homemade theatrical performances.” All activity feels staged. Everyone wears some kind of mask. Very few characters even go by their real names.

The mother refers to Nathaniel as Stitch. Rachel, she calls Wren. Their dubious guardians are The Moth and The Darter, and even Nathaniel’s girlfriend “Agnes” has taken this name from the place (Agnes Street) where they had their first rendezvous.

This precarious sense of reality leads Stitch to draw “detailed maps” early on, obsessing over each detail “as if what was not recorded might be in danger.”

The process of mapping is one of the primary ways humans have sought to order the overwhelming complexities of life. Storytelling is another. Every map tells a story, we might say, and every story is a kind of map by which we attempt to navigate the world. Later, Stitch will turn from cartography to narrative in his attempts at preservation.

The result of that effort is the novel itself–a subtly crafted frame story in which we observe him deep in the throes of reconstructing his own life history. It is also, in a sense, a sort of existential detective story in which he sleuths for clues as to his parents’ true identity and their roles during and just after the war.

From his early cartographies to his later retrospective narrating, we bear witness to Stitch’s desperate attempts to stitch his own life together, gathering the various scraps of memory and documentary evidence, quilting them together in a coherent pattern. What emerges is a self-conscious, self-reflective composition in which Nathaniel fills in blanks as best he can.

This constitutes an impressive feat: the way Ondaatje manages to present a character who is essentially bewildered (as so many of us are), living in a bewildering place and time (as so many of us do), without the book itself descending into bewildering chaos at any point.

It was, as they say, bravely done.

Paul Rankin is a freelance writer and editor, holds an MFA in fiction from Warren Wilson College, and lives with his family in Jackson where he is working on a novel.

Signed first editions of Warlight are still available at Lemuria’s online store.

Two of Will Campbell’s memoirs create balm for healing, love

By Carter Dalton Lyon. Special to the Clarion-Leger Sunday print edition (May 20)

On this Pentecost Sunday, when believers mark the arrival of the Holy Spirit that empowered the apostles to go forth and proclaim the good news of the Gospel, we would be well served in examining the words of one of God’s more modern-day disciples, Reverend Will D. Campbell. It has been nearly five years since Brother Will’s passing, but his wit and wisdom are as needed now as they have ever been.

Even if you are familiar with Rev. Campbell or one of his seventeen books, I would encourage you to revisit them. Thankfully, the University Press of Mississippi has just published new editions of his two memoirs: Brother to a Dragonfly, which first came out in 1977 and contains new forewords from longtime friends Jimmy Carter and John Lewis, and Forty Acres and a Goat, which was first published in 1986.

The books chronicle Rev. Campbell’s life from his upbringing in Amite County, Mississippi, to his time as a pastor and mentor to civil rights activists, though they are really books about who we are and how we relate to others, whether they are family members, friends, adversaries, or yes, a goat. During an era in which he shaped historical change, he is more interested in explaining how we are shaped by the personal bonds with those around us and how vital it is to seek out those connections.

brother to a dragonflyFew books could justifiably be called game-changers, but Brother to a Dragonfly was one for me when I first read it in college. It covers his formative years through the height of the civil rights movement as he became, in his words, a self-satisfied white southern liberal. You meet those, like his grandfather, the son of a Confederate soldier, who introduced him to the idea of nonviolence. From the first sentence to the last, you get to know Joe, the titular protagonist who was troubled but was ever the supportive critic, constantly pushing Will to truly evaluate his motives within the movement.

The murder of a friend, Jonathan Daniels, provided the moment of clarity for Rev. Campbell. He had spent his adult life in a state of self-assured sophistication, but now realized that in seeking racial justice, he had been overlooking the true nature of the tragedy, that poor whites—the murderers of activists like Daniels—were part of the tragedy, too.

40 acres and a goatForty Acres and a Goat is a companion memoir that develops on the lessons from Brother to a Dragonfly and extends them in time as he returned to a rural home, this time to a farm outside of Nashville, Tennessee. We meet Jackson, the goat and gatekeeper to the draft-dodgers and other non-conformists who visited or found refuge in the Campbells’ company.

We also meet his black friend T. J. Eaves, a relationship that spans the book and is framed by the fracturing of the movement itself, as the calls for Black Power collided with the commitment to nonviolent inter-racialism. Rev. Campbell never gave up on the project of the Beloved Community, even fashioning his own version in microcosm of what his friends called the Church of the Forty Acres and a Goat on his farm.

One can read these books for their value as eyewitness accounts into this era, but they should also be read because Rev. Campbell is a great writer and an incredible storyteller. He is hilarious, as in the time he and his classmates have to submit fecal samples as part of a New Deal program to eradicate hookworms, or the time he stepped to a lectern for his opening speech during a televised debate over the death penalty, and simply asserted, “I just think it’s tacky,” and then sat down.

Ultimately, the books offer appropriate reflections on this day of Pentecost, when all tongues and races were together at the Christian church’s inception.

Carter Dalton Lyon is the author of Sanctuaries of Segregation: The Story of the Jackson Church Visit Campaign and chairs the history department at St. Mary’s Episcopal School in Memphis, Tennessee.

‘A Shout in the Ruins’ by Kevin Powers is an affecting novel of Southern violence

By Guy Stricklin. Special to the Clarion-Ledger Sunday print edition (May 27)

shout in the ruinsIn his daring second novel, A Shout in the Ruins, Kevin Powers—author of The Yellow Birds—looks piercingly at the American South whose savage history he carefully traces in places like Richmond’s Chimborazo Hospital and through characters “lined with mark after mark of whip and brine.”

Powers’ sprawling cast moves in and out of focus during a story that crisscrosses the antebellum South and its ensuing century of violence and upheaval. The story opens onto three characters each uniquely confronting a rapidly changing and wholly indifferent world: Emily Reid, the unloved and unloving daughter born in Chesterfield County in 1847; her father’s slave, Rawls, whose docked toes cannot keep his melancholic soul from wandering; and 93-year-old George Seldom, a widower losing his home in Richmond to the impending construction of the interstate highway in 1956.

Their individual lives are knit together along with numerous others in a narrative broken up by digressions of memory and shifting points of view. This dynamic approach allows motifs and whole scenes to resurface countless times. We watch houses burning, embers, ashes, bleached bones found in the ruins, a world on fire, and a world collapsed. A Shout in the Ruins is reminiscent of another recent multi-generational novel, The Son by Philipp Meyer, whose praise for Powers is quoted on this book’s jacket.

As the novel unfolds, Powers depicts the variety of ways violence—emotional, as well as physical—is enacted and endured by these characters. George’s pain is shapeless, systemic, and reflective; Rawls’ expansive, without border, hereditary; and Emily’s private, deep, a cave whose hollowing darkness she cannot or will not plumb. Pain, though, is pain and you read on hoping salvation of a kind finds its way, though it will have to be as varied as the characters themselves.

Powers writes with a sharpness that is both convincing and convicting. This is a book rooted in a South we know. The violent rending of a nation and the unspeakable cruelty of slavery reverberate throughout, but Powers moves beyond these very real acts and takes on a perspective which sees even those seminal events as echos of some more ancient transgression. Meditation might strike closest to what this novel aims toward. Quite quickly, Powers is examining not only his characters but the whole of humanity. In passages evoking Kubrick’s 2001, he describes the order of the world as repetition: violences repeated, passed down, and given to each successive generation from the very start. “The gun goes off when the line gets crossed, and the line got crossed a long time ago, when we were naked and wandered the savanna and slept beneath the baobab trees” writes Powers. Violence, as he tells it, is both personal and cosmic; intimate and elemental.

And yet throughout, punctuating this darkness, are flickers of love and goodness and kindness: a baby rescued, help given, hope trusted, and good done in spite of its seeming uselessness, its transience, and its insignificance. As with many of his characters, Powers is asking us to consider that perhaps, in spite of all the world’s violence and pain, in spite of everything, “One good thing still counts.”

A masterful novel, Kevin Power’s A Shout in the Ruins is a timely powerhouse full of seething violence and remarkable humanity.

Guy Stricklin is a bookseller and the First Editions Club supervisor here at Lemuria.

Kevin Powers’ novel A Shout in the Ruins is Lemuria’s May 2018 selection for our First Editions Club for Fiction.

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