Gasoline Books #10: Why Is Everyone Suddenly Writing Southern Gothic Novels?
It's probably not why you think.
My grandmother Bobbee picked up a ghost on the way from Knoxville to Tullahoma. Though only in her twenties at the time, this was the second ghost that had hitched its cart to her wagon, the first being the holy spirit, who perhaps was a less vocal, if omnipresent, companion. The second, a ghost we all came to know as “the lady” was snarky, opinionated, and prided herself on haunting not just my grandmother, but the whole family, lest she be accused of playing favorites.
According to family lore, the lady remained dormant save for the occasional flare of midnight stair stomping and swapping salt for sugar, ruining Bobbee’s famous desserts. All very PG poltergeisting in the grand scheme of ghosting.
This changed, though, after my Uncle Mike declared himself to University of Kentucky to play football. My grandparents hadn’t even known he was looking at colleges other than University of Tennessee, the generational alma mater that may as well have been coded into our DNA. The youngest and only boy of the children, Mike was my grandfather’s one shot to see his offspring take the field on game day. This type of treason did not go over lightly. It was unclear who felt more betrayed: Bobbee, my grandfather, or the lady. Based off what happened next, my money’s on the lady.
That summer, Mike’s bedroom chest of drawers and closet doors would fling open, powered by phantom fury. Checkered orange-and-white pendants fluttered to the ground in non-existent drafts, as if they’d lost the will to hang on the walls of a newfound traitor. In the mornings, he’d bang his shin on a trunk that had somehow moved overnight to the center of his room. He’d come downstairs rubbing a sore shin and Bobbee would chuckle, pulling muffins out of the oven, for once in cahoots with the lady. Apparently you continue to bleed orange and white long after you’re dead.
Later, Uncle Mike would claim that dodging the lady’s boobytraps was better training for D1 football than an extra month of pre-season. Soon enough, he made it to University of Kentucky only to be benched despite his impressive size for a first-year linebacker. That fall, the hot topic at the Thanksgiving dinner table was whether the lady was capable of curses. Lights flickered above the squash casserole. The lady had spoken.
By the time I came around, the youngest of grandchildren, the lady was just another member of the family, one who had the unfortunate job of shouldering the blame for our bad luck. Sweltering long hot stretch? It was the lady’s fault. Flat tire? The lady. Rabbits made salad out of your vegetable garden? The lady. When I was little, I thought every family had a ghost, much like a beloved pet. You can imagine my surprise when I learned otherwise.
Unknown to us, we were just another living, breathing (for the most part) example of the family mythology that’s often reflected in the house of mirrors known as Southern gothic fiction. Frequently, the genre examines wide cultural shifts behind the masquerade of down-home horror and absurdity. And today, everyone is writing one.
Novels like S.A. Cosby’s “All the Sinner Bleed” and Gillian Flynn’s “Sharp Objects” were quick favorites among readers and critics alike. Author of “Open Throat,” Henry Hoake has claimed he’s working on a piece that falls into the ilk. Meanwhile, on the screen, everything from “Wednesday” to “True Detective” and “The Beguiled” are gunning for our imaginations. It’s even invading our closets.
So, why now?
First, a quick tour of Southern gothic roots: My dude Edgar Allan Poe introduced it with “Fall of the House of Usher,” a must-read this time of year, by borrowing common threads from Victorian gothic lore — familial madness, epically degrading manses, ghosts — and sauced it up with some sweet tea. Just kidding, kinda. Poe applied these elements while folding in a layer of surrealism, nature’s isolating dominance, and the grotesque, among other distinctly Southern attributes.
From the outset, Southern gothic authors have forced characters to bump up against uncomfortable truths about living in the region by turning up the volume on certain tropes (the zealot, the sinner, the enslaver, the outcast, the restless heart). From there, he passed the baton to William Faulkner, Truman Capote, Harper Lee, Flannery O’Connor, and Zora Neale Hurston. On their heels followed Toni Morrison, Harry Crews, Cormac McCarthy, Jesmyn Ward and many, many others.
When reviewing a spike in Southern gothic novels, it’s paramount to look at the work within the wider culture of the time. In 1839, the year that “Fall of the House of Usher” debuted, the abolitionist movement was hitting its stride. The Amistad revolt occurred. White women gained the right to own property in Jackson, Mississippi, a first for the country. The unjust removal of Native Americans from their land had reached a fever pitch.
The question of morality, religion, humanity, and the family unit was sharpening into focus within the political landscape, only to reveal that, for many, their longstanding beliefs were rotten to the core. Poe’s work bent the dizzying political push and pull by introducing hauntings, spooks, and suspense: Is it more terrifying to realize that ghosts are real or imagined? The same could be said of certain belief systems.
In many ways, art is a mirror to the times in which it is created. This is certainly the case for early 20th century writers of the genre like Faulkner, Hurston and Jean Toomer, author of “Cane.” Jim Crow laws had sprouted and fanned out across the South like an invasive weed. Segregation, violence, and oppression were rampant.
And then the Great Depression rocked everyone, though at varying degrees of severity, yet again calling into question all that Americans held dear and at arm’s length. The turmoil boiled up a bounty of fodder for fiction and appeared in a variety of apparitions in these authors’ work. The structure in “The Sound and the Fury,” Faulkner’s heady fractured epic, matches the fissures rippling beneath the Compson clan. Hurston’s “Their Eyes Were Watching God” cast an unflinching eye onto what it was like to be a Black woman living in the South, reality being more terrifying than any ghost story.
With all this being said, is it any surprise, then, that the genre is racing into the eye of today’s zeitgeist? Political tensions are hotter than the boiling ocean, U.S. women are losing custody over their bodies, and systemic racism is prevalent as ever. Trauma is our favorite diagnosis. The lady’s trickery seems like child’s play in comparison.
In recent years, Southern gothic novels have followed in the genre’s tradition. In “Sharp Objects,” Flynn reviewed the hushed collapse of the Southern matriarch, meanwhile Lauren Groff’s short story collection, “Florida” questions whether Southerners have actually prevailed over the land they call home. Cosby took on the deeply flawed justice system, especially for Black folks, and vigilantism, in several novels. And, in a full circle moment, next month Netflix is releasing a modernized version of Poe’s “Usher.”
These novels are delicious, oftentimes careening around twists and turns, and compelling readers to see what happens next, no matter how late the hour. Interestingly, non-Southern authors are adapting certain mechanics of Southern gothic novels (“Lone Women” by Victor LaValle comes mind here), underscoring the pervasiveness of issues that have seeped well past the Mason Dixon. I’d argue that these contemporary novels are poking at the legitimacy and plasticity of the American dream — and Southern life. If anything, the South is a distilled stand-in, as it often is, for America itself, warts and all.
Southern gothic fiction is more than entertainment — it always has been. It acts as witness to the complexity, corrosion, and sometimes, unity, that happens here.
It’s a lot to unpack, but what better way than a creepy novel to foster empathy? (If you can’t feel for someone tormented by a ghost, who can you feel for?) Despite such dark topics, there’s certainly a ton of silver lining should readers be open minded, in my opinion. Something to think about the next time you pick up a humid piece of horror.
Below, a list of must-read Southern gothic tales and more from the book world.
Southern Gothic Reading List
Below, books that were listed above and others. There’s plenty more where these come from. Be sure to comment if you want a follow-up reading list in a coming Small Press.
“Fall of the House of Usher” - Edgar Allan Poe
“The Sound and the Fury” - William Faulkner
“Sharp Objects” - Gillian Flynn
“All the Sinners Bleed” - S.A. Cosby
“Their Eyes Were Watching God” - Zora Neale Hurston
“Sing, Unburied Sing” - Jesmyn Ward
“Cane” - Jean Toomer
“Other Voices, Other Rooms” - Truman Capote
“Wise Blood” - Flannery O’Connor
“Child of God” - Cormac McCarthy
“Florida” - Lauren Groff
“Swamplandia” - Karen Russell
“The Gospel Singer” - Harry Crews
“Lone Women” - Victor LaValle
“Beloved” - Toni Morrison
Lit Links
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The 2023 National Book Award Longlist Nominees were announced this week via National Book Award
Jesmyn Ward on her childhood local library via Harper’s Bazaar
Are you a gloomy girl? Right this way for fall closet inspo via The Zoe Report (written by moi — literary references abound!)
Best book I read in August: “These Precious Days” - Ann Patchett