Three Years of Southern Stories, and a Dream of Change
As Salvation South marks three years of publication, editor Chuck Reece looks back at a stellar lineup of established Southern authors and fresh voices.
As Salvation South marks three years of publication, editor Chuck Reece looks back at a stellar lineup of established Southern authors and fresh voices.
When integration came, her parents sent her to a whites-only private school. For four years, she’s collected the stories of students from that era. This is what she’s learned.
Salvation South regulars Doug Cumming and Adam Smith introduce us to Frank Hamilton, who for many decades has ridden the rails of American folk music in fine company.
There was a time in Hudson, North Carolina, when a man would never walk into a beauty shop. But one day, in 1973, one did.
Thoughts on reverie, restlessness, and recklessness from the poet laureate of West Virginia.
He’s almost 90, and he teaches music in a little school in Georgia. He’s also an unsung giant of American folk music who played with Woody Guthrie and Pete Seeger. Meet Frank Hamilton.
The award-winning North Carolina writer David Joy’s new novel forces White characters into difficult conversations about race—and White readers to look harder at themselves.
A review of “Those We Thought We Knew,” the fifth novel by David Joy
When you’re putting up the bounty of the garden, it’s positively lyrical.
Come with us to North Carolina to meet David Joy, the author of one of the most important Southern books you’ll read all year. And speaking of books…
A short story about an old man, a young man, the checkout line, and small things that feel like justice.
Our Southern Reader’s Travelogue series continues with a visit to Milledgeville, Georgia, where Flannery O’Connor raised peacocks until her death at age 39. Peacocks still roam at Andalusia, and the rest of the property looks just like it did when she was writing her classic novels and stories.
One about where to grow old together. Another about where to put the remains when we’re gone.