Giveaways Good for Book Clubs

Frances Mayes Recommends Her Favorite Southern Writers

Powerful in the first writers I discovered was the naked South—primal black swamps, heat mirages, peach blows, moss-hung oaks, laurel slicks—the land itself, a sense of which every southern writer was spoon-fed, along with grits, smothered quail, and chess pie.

In my memoir, Under Magnolia, I remember, even as a child, how affected I was by southern writers.

The first poems I memorized came from Sidney Lanier’s The Marshes of Glynn. I still know them and must break out in soaring quotes anytime we’re driving across any salt marsh in the world.

Another book was The Face of a Nation, excerpts from Thomas Wolfe’s writing, which I found in the one bookcase in my grandparents’ house, next to Statesmen of the Lost Cause by Burton Hendrick. I didn’t read the latter at age nine but already I had heard people say “lost cause.” In mid-twentieth century Georgia, the phrase still resonated.

“We lost,” I’d heard. “We’re the only part of America ever to lose a war on our own ground,” they started telling us as early as third grade. (Conveniently forgetting Native Americans.)

I gradually came to see that “lost cause” seeped into writers such as Wolfe who could say “oh, lost and by the wind-grieved ghost, come back. . . .” He wrote about personal loss, not the lost cause, but, as I read more extensively, that pervading aura of loss seemed part of the natural voice of the South.

The Yearling by Marjorie Kennan Rawlings could break the heart of a stone. Edgar Allan Poe’s “Annabel Lee” was locked away forever in her tomb by the sounding sea. My favorite, Steven Vincent Benét’s John Brown’s Body, delved a long way into a particular kind of mythologizing of the “lost” way of life.

Equally powerful in the first writers I discovered, was the naked South—primal black swamps, heat mirages, peach blows, moss-hung oaks, laurel slicks—the land itself, a sense of which every southern writer was spoon-fed, along with grits, smothered quail, and chess pie.

When I later found William Faulkner, James Agee, Eudora Welty, Flannery O’Connor, Carson McCullers, Frank Yerby, Hamilton Basso, Zora Neale Hurston, Willie Morris, Lillian Smith and many others, I realized how they worked.

Take the tornado spiraling on the edge of a cotton field, the clear creek sparkling with quartz crystals, take something soft as the breath of a gardenia, something stinking like a pile of warm dung—take the inheritance, revel in it, then turn it inside out. As a young writer, I began to discover how a good writer does not succumb but overcomes.

Ah! Out of the racially divided mentality of the South, came the ability to play opposing sides within a character, so that you might admire and detest at the same moment. Light in August is rife with such characters. From the racial divide, too, came the knowledge that you have to go there, where you hesitate to go, there, near the source of sorrow. And will you find redemption?

Will you kill a mockingbird, or will you find the move on determination of Hurston, who had no time for self-pity because she was too busy sharpening her oyster knife?

Out of the misty mythology of the South came a riotous sense of the ridiculous, so well honed in Flannery O’Connor’s fiction, where the grandmother, helped over the ditch by the man about to murder her, says “Thank you.”

Out of the powerful land came a lyric fierceness that produced such a writer as Agee. Out of the Christ-ridden South, came the quest for secular salvation, or at least a moment of grace. Out of obsession with the past came the desire to understand it, nowhere more quietly and passionately than in Eudora Welty’s The Optimist’s Daughter.

The body of southern literature has warmed me all my life. Having moved back to the South after a lifetime in California, I’m immersing myself in contemporary writers. As I did as a teenager, I’m taking notes, ready to learn how this verdant, haunted land continues to shape the writers who love it.

Congrats to Minette S., Pam L., Jean C., Ryan H., Denise H., and 95 other members of the Read It Forward community! Their entries were selected at random to win an Advance Reader’s Copy of Under Magnolia by Frances Mayes.

Make sure you’re subscribed at the top of this page. You’ll get an exclusive email from us every week with info on how to enter our members-only Read It First giveaways.

Do you have a favorite Southern author or book? Share it in the comments!

About the Author

FRANCES MAYES is the author of four books about Tuscany. The now-classic Under the Tuscan Sun–which was a New York Times bestseller for more than two and a half years and became a Touchstone movie starring Diane Lane. It was followed by Bella Tuscany and two illustrated books, In Tuscany and Bringing Tuscany Home. She is also the author of the novel, Swan, six books of poetry, and The Discovery of Poetry. Her books have been translated into more than twenty languages. Visit her online at
  • lynne_B

    My favorite southern authors are Fannie Flagg, Clyde Edgerton, Kaye Gibbons, Jill McCorkle, Ann Ross and of course Lee Harper with the best southern novel of all time; To Kill a Mockingbird.

    • Kira, editor @ Read It Forward

      Thanks for the list, Lynne. I adore Kaye Gibbons! To Kill a Mockingbird is consistently chosen by RIFers as the best novel of all time!

  • techeditor

    John Hart comes to mind.
    My problem with southern writers is that they don’t want to leave. When they’ve written a good book, they do book events in the South and never come to Michigan.

    Wait a minute, I’m going to a book event in April with Chris Bohjalian. Isn’t he a Southern writer?

  • reddwhine

    I finished “Whistling Past the Graveyard” and I have to say of the many southern lit books I’ve read, this is one of my favorites. Also loved To Kill a Mockingbird, The Color Purple and Catfish Alley

  • Elizabeth Michael Grabow

    Just received this book as a gift from Read It Forward. I can’t wait to start reading tonight. Thank you Read It Forward!