Böcker av Joe Formichella

Southern Writers Reading was the literary scene gone rogue,upsetting the apple carts of more than a couple of self-satisfied editorsin the region. It was the anti-establishment strain of the literary family,the kids in the back of the classroom shooting spitballs, lobbing rottenapples, thumbing their noses at grammatical prudes. And Williamhad nothing but disdain for posturing and preening, academic airs,mercenary social climbing, obsequious ass-kissing. And limousines. Nowonder he kept returning.1998-2008: these were literary magic years, with Big DaddySonny Brewer bringing the juju, along with partners-in-crime like JimGilbert, Kyle Jennings, Skip Jones, and Martin Lanaux. The communitycame alive, venues volunteered, folks opened their homes to lodgeauthors, throw parties, banquets, lunches and brunches, and the ABCstore did a very brisk business. The weekend's events all fell under theumbrella of Southern Writers Reading.Why "Southern"? There's been much debate over the lastcouple of decades about whether the classification should even existanymore. For my own self, I just know that when I was doing researchfor my 2003 novel In a Temple of Trees, I explored some very dark,Deliverance-like parts of West Alabama that took me right back to mychildhood days in southwest Georgia-in the 1950s. Places where timehas stopped. My protective guide took me to dives and honky tonksand drove me around with a man and his six-year-old son, both ofwhom enthusiastically chewed and spat tobacco. We visited a womanin jail accused of carving her boyfriend's rectum out with a fish scalingknife. I witnessed an elderly African American man address a teenagewhite boy as "sir," and not in an ironic way. Confederate flags were notuncommon.