When the Yankees arrive in Roswell, Georgia, Leigh Ann Conners places a French flag upon the family's mill. She hopes the Yankees will then spare the mill from destruction, but her actions have disastrous results.

Collects the best artwork created before, during and following the Civil War, in the years between 1859 and 1876, along with extensive quotations from men and women alive during the war years and text by literary figures, including Emily Dickinson, Mark Twain and Walt Whitman. 15,000 first printing.

How could liberalism and apartheid coexist for decades in our country, as they did during the first half of the twentieth century? This study looks at works by such writers as Thomas Dixon, Erskine Caldwell, Zora Neale Hurston, William Faulkner, and Ralph Ellison to show how representations of time in southern narrative first accommodated but finally elucidated the relationship between these two political philosophies. Although racial segregation was codified by U.S. law, says Leigh Anne Duck, nationalist discourse downplayed its significance everywhere but in the South, where apartheid was conceded as an immutable aspect of an anachronistic culture. As the nation modernized, the South served as a repository of the country's romantic notions: the region was represented as a close-knit, custom-bound place through which the nation could temper its ambivalence about the upheavals of progress. The Great Depression changed this. Amid economic anxiety and the international rise of fascism, writes Duck, "the trope of the backward South began to comprise an image of what the United States could become." As she moves from the Depression to the nascent years of the civil rights movement to the early cold war era, Duck explains how experimental writers in each of these periods challenged ideas of a monolithically archaic South through innovative representations of time. She situates their narratives amid broad concern regarding national modernization and governance, as manifest in cultural and political debates, sociological studies, and popular film. Although southern modernists' modes and methods varied along this trajectory, their purpose remained focused: to explore the mutually constitutive relationships between social forms considered "southern" and "national."

Summary As the Lily Among the Thorns, simply put, is about an eleven year old girl, Leigh Anne Bohannon, who, although born in the deep south in the state of Mississippi with its age-old code of southern honor and etiquette, thinks with a mind of her own. She is a nonconformist, in her own words, a “rebel”. To put it bluntly this southern girl was “born with balls”. She has a “rare and treasured mind”; she has her own opinions, having little regard as to the whims of society as she sees it, or of “proper southern etiquette”. She becomes best friends with a little black girl, Jenny Pearl Reynolds, who is exactly the same age as she. The first part of the book (of a little over three hundred pages) sets the scenario in Mississippi in nineteen hundred and sixty three, gives a description of Leigh Anne’s world, the world of the deep south, as well as an introduction to her gentle and hard working family, “Daddy Bo” her father, a wise and gentle man who uses humor as he teaches his family the hard lessons of life, Lillian, her Atlanta, Georgia born, college educated mother, “Grandmother”, who is constantly relating bloody handed down accounts of the Civil War, Monica, Leigh Anne’s beautiful sixteen year old sister who is a dainty, lady-like carbon copy of Lillian, but without the kindness or gentleness, Ben Ray, the younger Bohannon son, Leigh Anne’s uncle, a tobacco chewing “good ole boy” who takes over the book with his “ruggedly cute” personality. Leigh Anne meets Jenny Pearl at an old country store, Martins, and they, as soon as they realize they have the exact same birthday, become “friends forever”. The reader, as well as Leigh Anne, gets to know the Reynolds family, Gentle Reynolds, Jenny’s father, who received his name from his disposition, Lottie Mae, the mother, who gave birth to her only child in her middle years, her “change of life” baby, Jenny Pearl, whom the parents “dote” on. Jenny Pearl’s parents regale Leigh Anne and the reader with “colored stories” and of Negro life in the Deep South, past and present. As the Lily Among the Thorns is real and believable and opens the readers mind and heart as he too lives life through a southern white family and also through a southern black family. The reader is thinking and even speaking in the southern “redneck” vernacular, black and white. As the book unravels, it soon reveals that the Deep South is on the brink of desegregation. The formally slow moving, slow talking world is suddenly “stirred up like a hornet’s nest”, as its beloved world is intruded upon by a fast moving, fast changing world that is in direct opposition to “the old south”. Students in Leigh Anne’s school learn this “unheard of Yankee notion” and the book records the clashing of these two worlds as the students try to “inhale” the idea that desegregation is snowballing their way and the reader sees the reverberating chaos of these two worlds. The Ku Klux Klan plays a pivotal part in this new world, as does Leigh Anne and Jenny Pearl and they are eventually entangled in the murderous mess of both worlds! Leigh Anne, and eventually Jenny Pearl, lives to go “ramblin’“ or adventurin’“. The girls antagonize or “spook” the Ku Klux Klan into burning crosses in both their yards. But, whoa! First Leigh Anne and eventually her black buddy, Jenny, contend with an enemy, an ever present enemy in the form of a flabby, yellow-eyed sixteen year old low-life, John Marshall Davis. He torments Leigh Anne and Jenny Pearl at any and every opportunity. The shy black girl as well as the confrontational white girl are afraid of him, and who wouldn’t be afraid of ignorance and cruelty in the crassest form? But Leigh Anne eventually stands up to her tormentor and this verbal battle becomes physical and culminates into an actual life threatening beating, thus bringing to pass the first climax of the book. As the girls travel the highway of life, their “adventurin’“ leads to “sneakin’ up” on an actual clandesti

Taking readers through the various stages of criticism of Emily Dickinson's poetry, this guide identifies both the essential critical texts and the key debates within them. The texts chosen for discussion represent the canonical readings which have typically shaped the area of Dickinson studies throughout the twentieth- and twenty-first century and provide a lens through which to view current critical trends. Chapters focus on style and meaning, gender and sexuality, history and race, religion and hymn culture, and performance and popular culture. In all, this guide serves as a user-friendly reference tool to the vast body of criticism on Dickinson to date by suggesting formative starting points and underlining essential critical highlights. It provides students and scholars of Dickinson with a sense of where these critical texts can be placed in relation to one another, as well as an understanding of pivotal moments within the history of reception of Dickinson from late nineteenth-century reviews up to some of the definitive critical interventions of the twenty-first century.

In this bold study of cinematic depictions of violence in the south, Deborah E. Barker explores the ongoing legacy of the “southern rape complex” in American film. Taking as her starting point D. W. Griffith’s infamous Birth of a Nation, Barker demonstrates how the tropes and imagery of the southern rape complex continue to assert themselves across a multitude of genres, time periods, and stylistic modes. Drawing from Gilles Deleuze’s work on cinema, Barker examines plot, dialogue, and camera technique as she considers several films: The Story of Temple Drake (1933), Sanctuary (1958), Touch of Evil (1958), To Kill a Mockingbird (1962), and Cape Fear (1962). Placing this body of analysis in the context of the historical periods when these films appeared and the literary sources on which they are based, Barker reveals the protean power of cinematic racialized violence amid the shifting cultural and political landscapes of the South and the nation as a whole. By focusing on familiar literary and cinematic texts—each produced or set during moments of national crisis such as the Great Depression or the civil rights movement—Barker’s Reconstructing Violence offers fresh insights into the anxiety that has underpinned sexual and racial violence in cinematic representations of the South.