Skip to: Content
Skip to: Site Navigation
Skip to: Search


Southern Writers

By David ButwinSpecial to The Christian Science Monitor / October 6, 1981



The South is nothing if not a literary hot-house. It produces writers the way Finland used to turn out runners and the Catskills made comedians. Who can say why? Surely a history or roiling political and personal conflict has helped to produce material, and for backdrop there has always been the crumbling antebellum mansions, the moss-draped oaks, the singing hot summer nights. Nowhere in the land is there a stronger tradition for storytelling. Words, spoken and written, still matter in the South. This may be the only region where people don't talk in ragged shorthand, where sentences are not only finished but exulted upon.

Skip to next paragraph

From Joel Chandler Harris to Wolfe and Faulkner and Tennessee Williams, Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings, Carson McCullers, and Walker Percy, the South continues to breed literary genius, and the joy of it all is that the houses they wrote in, the people and places that inspired them can be seen and visited. Two invaluable aids to any literary pilgrimage are Stephanie Kraft's "No Castles on Main Street: American Authors and Their Homes" (New York: Rand McNally in hard-cover, Penguin in paperback) and Rita Stein's "A Literary Tour Guide to the United States: South and Southwest" (New York: William Morrow).

Both authors would agree, I think, that Thomas Wolfe's Asheville, N.C., and William Faulkner's Oxford, Miss., are two of the most sought-after literary shrines. Asheville, in the highlands of western North Carolina, was portrayed as Altamont in "Look Homeward, Angel," and the boarding house that Wolfe called Dixieland, now a museum, still stands at 48 Spruce Street, bearing the sign his family gave it 75 years ago, Old Kentucky Home. Wolfe did not write happily of the boardinghouse or of Asheville itself, but he didn't spare his family either, which probably kept the citizenry from the Wolfe's door when the book was published in 1929. The local library did not stock his novel, Stephanie Kraft writes in "No Castles," "until F. Scott Fitzgerald, visiting Asheville while his wife, Zelda, was a patient at Highland Hospital there, presented the library with a set of Wolfe's works."

The house on Spruce Street, administered by the city as the Thomas Wolfe Memorial, comes to life as the prototype early 20th-century boardinghouse, full of factory-made oak furniture and family pictures. Almost all the furnishings once belonged to the Wolfes, and there is a room in memory of the man who said "You can't go home again" -- typewriter, briefcase, brass lamp, and well-traveled suitcase, all gathered from his last New York apartment.

William Faulkner did not exactly exalt the residents of his Yoknapatawpha County, but as Rita Stein notes in her literary tour guide, "the people of Oxford nevertheless revere Faulkner." His handsome antebellum house, Rowan Oak, on Old Taylor Road near the University of Mississippi, is not easily found. There are no signs, no commercial come-ons. This is the university's way of preserving the author's much coveted privacy and treating the house with the dignity of an academic building. Set in a grove of oaks and cedars on 31 acres, Rowan Oak "still resonates with Faulkner's spirit," Ms. Stein writes in her state-by-state guidebook. She goes on: