The best southern themed books you’ve never heard of (maybe)

There is one very excellent reason to read this book: It’s hilarious. Ms. King delivers her memoir of a 1950s-60s Southern childhood with searing, laugh-til-you-cry wit as she turns classic Southern tropes on their eccentric heads. Everything from the ubiquitous obsession with lineage (“Who are your people?”) to a mother’s nickname for a wayward child (“Mama Tried”) receives its due. It’s a must-read if you want to understand Southern culture or if only to make acquaintance with Ms. King’s most famous one-liner, an admission of the indelible effects of Southern training even in failed ladies: “No matter what sex I slept with, I never smoked on the street.” 

As a fiction author who investigates the Southern Jewish Experience as it transects with the African American one, I’ve found the work of Eli Evans indispensible. This collection of essays highlights Evans’ Civil Rights Era bona fides, his work in the LBJ administration as speech writer, his trip with Henry Kissinger to the Middle East. But it is also a book at its most personal and insightful when it celebrates small-town Southern life and the Southern Jew’s place in it. In the title essay Christian neighbors, both Black and white, are at church or enjoying Sunday supper after church, which leaves the often isolated Jewish children with little to do. An experimental fishing trip with his father on one such Sunday warms the heart and brings a smile. It’s worth the price of the book entire.

I am an unabashed Cormac McCarthy fan and this novel from 1968 is perfection in both mood and dialogue. I have always found it his best, surpassing even the superb The Road. In what feels to be Appalachia in the late 19th or early 20th century, Rinthy, a young orphan, lives in isolation with her brother, Culla, who impregnates her. When the child is born, Culla, consumed by guilt and fear of exposure, abandons the child in the woods, telling Rinthy the child has died when in fact it is stolen from its place of abandonment by a tinker. The remainder of the story chronicles Rinthy’s search for her child and her brother’s search for redemption. Meanwhile, a nameless evil in the form of three murderous strangers blankets the countryside in fear and awe. Eventually, tinker, baby, Rinthy, and her brother all fall under their influence. I don’t think I’ve ever read before or hope to read again a novel of such evocative, elemental power. A masterpiece.

Dara Horn is a fabulous writer. A recent work, People Love Dead Jews, won the National Jewish Book Award, and for good reason. She is an exquisitely profound, solidly intellectual writer in Guide for the Perplexed. In All Other Nights, she proves herself as a master storyteller on matters of the heart and soul. Set during the Civil War, a young Jewish man volunteers for not-so-patriotic reasons in the Union Army and is set upon a mission of spying and assassination at the bosom of his Southern family. It’s a brilliant story of lovers and enemies separated and reunited with the tragedies of war in between. Beyond all that, it’s a meditation on loyalty and the cruel duplicity of man. Our hero faces innumerable moral choices that attempt to answer the question: What’s a nice Jewish boy doing in a war like this? Horn’s answers do not disappoint.

For my money, Stern is the South’s premiere literary comic writer. In this one, he is a Southern Philip Roth with an I.B. Singer twist. A teenage boy discovers a frozen rabbi in the Kelvinator inside his parent’s Memphis basement. The rabbi’s been frozen for one hundred years. Bernie thaws him and what ensues covers a universe of incident: teenage hope and angst, Talmudic wisdom, kabbalistic film-flammery, the seduction of all of Memphis, from lowlifes to elite, by a rabbi (who can fly) selling himself as the font of all magic and knowledge. Stern obviously loves his Memphis and his Jews. At the same time he skewers them with the sleekest wit. Even Israel gets a gratuitous knock. It was the only thing I did not like in the book but it was fleeting, so I got over it. Such is the power of genius.