The incomparable Flannery O'Connor

My all-time favorite writer is Flannery O'Connor. If you've never read anything by her, time's a wastin'. Get thee to a library and check her out. At a Christian blog that I visit regularly, jesuscreed.org, I have been participating recently in a discussion about her. For purposes of my own blog, and since my words belong to me, I quote below my own comments only.

#6, #7 (combined): As one who has made Flannery's home state of Georgia his adopted home, I do not find her “too grotesque and bizarre” at all, as does [name withheld]. A Latin phrase comes to mind: de gustibus non est disputandum (there’s no disputing about taste), but let me just say that Northerners often find Flannery’s characters unbelievable and incomprehensible; Southerners (with the possible exception of Atlantans) recognize them as neighbors and friends that they see every day. Flannery’s ear is pitch-perfect and her eye is single to His glory.

I had never heard of her until a corporate transfer (I’ve Been Moved) brought me to Georgia in 1975. One day on my lunch hour I wandered into the West Paces Ferry branch of the Atlanta Public Library and, being a new resident, picked up a magazine called Brown’s Guide to Georgia to peruse. I was intrigued by an article in it by Betsy Fancher about Flannery O’Connor. Since I was now officially a Georgian, I decided to read something of hers. The only thing on the shelves that day was her posthumously published collection of short stories entitled Everything That Rises Must Converge. Later I read her first volume of short stories, A Good Man Is Hard To Find, and only after that did I read her two novels, Wise Blood, which is about The Holy Church Of Christ Without Christ, among other things, and The Violent Bear It Away, which should give both paedobaptists and credobaptists pause. Her non-fiction essays (Mystery and Manners) and her collected letters (The Habit of Being), both edited by Sally Fitzgerald, are treasure troves. Let’s just say I love reading stuff by and about Flannery O’Connor.

There are some wonderful essays online (especially those by Stephen Sparrow of New Zealand) at a site called Comforts of Home: The Flannery O’Connor Repository (the internet address is http://mediaspecialist.org/index.html).

Once you “get her,” few other writers are as satisfying.

#10: [name], she may or may not be poking fun at her characters but she finds them redeemable. There’s a customer review of her Collected Works over at Amazon, by a guy named Pliplup, that says it very well:

“Amazing Grace. How sweet the sound that saved this wretched human race. O’Connor writes of God’s love and redemption of humanity. She uses exaggeration to make her point. Her characters are so very silly, obtuse, bigoted, loathsome they become cartoons, yet there is a deep integrity to their shallowness. She’s not making fun of them, but giving them the justice of a pitiless description. Indeed they do not seem judged, but naked — the fruits of their stupid, misguided ideas and actions on display. And these children of God do shocking things to others and themselves. And yet….

And yet God allows them to live and learn, or not learn if that is their inclination. He gives them this freedom. He loves them. How can this be? How?

I love O’Connor for her art, her convictions, her courage, and her love. She is so very true and honest.”

I sincerely hope and pray that I haven’t violated a copyright.

#16: [name], what??!!?? Can anything good be found in a story? I don’t know, can anything good be found in your story? In my story? It’s rather like saying, ‘Can anything good come out of Nazareth?’-–isn’t it?

God is Creator, and we, His Eikons, are sub-creators since we are made in His image (see C. S. Lewis and J. R. R. Tolkien).

Forgive the prose-only readers, Father, they know not what they do.

#17: [name], the humor in Flannery O’Connor’s fiction is not as broad as Barry, Keillor, or Grizzard, but it’s far more cutting. For example, the girl who tells Ruby Turpin she’s a wart-hog from Hell is named Mary Grace (she is not the grace itself but perhaps a doorway leading to grace?); the cynical PhD. whose wooden leg is stolen in a hayloft by a Bible salesman she hopes to seduce is named Joy Hopewell (although she calls herself Hulga); and the Bible salesman who does the actual seducing, who has been believing in nothing ever since he was born, is named Manley Pointer. You don’t get any funnier than that.

#33: The first story of Flannery’s that I read was “Everything That Rises Must Converge” from the collection of the same name. Each story in that book jolted me in some way. “Greenleaf,” “A View of the Woods,” “The Enduring Chill,” and on and on. “Parker’s Back,” oh, my word. “Revelation.” “Judgement Day.” “The Comforts of Home.” “The Lame Shall Enter First.” And “Revelation.” This woman’s stories have changed me forever. Everybody needs a kick in the pants occasionally, or a whop upside the head, but over and over and over? (I guess the answer is “yes.”)

I have never advocated “the reading of fiction” in general because you really have to pick and choose. For example, much of the stuff on supermarket shelves is trash. Popular trash, maybe, but trash nonetheless. On the other hand, I have never hesitated to recommend anything Flannery O’Connor ever wrote.

If you don’t “get it,” just keep on reading. Eventually you will.

Her work transcends time and geographical place. Her characters may speak like backwoods Southerners, but that’s only to set the scene. People like them live everywhere. They’re all around you, and Jesus loves them. [End of comments]

I hope you're not too confused. A good read is hard to find.

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[Update: An anonymous commenter and I continued the conversation in several comments to this post. If you're not yet bored with Flannery O'Connor, have a look.]