Tuesday, January 25
Flannery O'Connor is one of those great Catholic writers I have never gotten around to reading. Whenever I mention her name I get an interesting response--not necessarily a pleased response, but certainly an interesting one. Either she's really, really great, or just downright weird, or possibly both. As a Southerner (more-or-less), I could see how she could be both, as in Dixie, the two are not always mutually exclusive. Incidentally, the Midwest is far weirder than anyone immediately presupposes: the place is just crying out for someone to either pull a Lovecraft on it and turn it into a creepy American Gothic horror-movie set filled with sinister Amish and bare skeletal tree-branches, or perhaps instead something Faulkneresque-by-way-of-Bergmann, with lots of decaying emigrant churches and Lutherans in Volvos. The place could easily get a mythology on par with southern belles, cowboys, and pitchfork-wielding Puritans, in the right hands. But I digress: what do my Learned Dear Readers think of Flannery? So good or no good?