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Even now, I persist in believing that these black marks on white paper bear the greatest significance, that if I keep writing I might be able to catch the rainbow of consciousness in a jar.

— Jeffrey Eugenides


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Carson McCullers is a name I have always had floating around in my consciousness as somebody I ought to read and would probably like. I've always associated her with Flannery O'Connor as a female southern writer of short stories from the mid-20th century. But come to find out, she is not really like O'Connor too much. This is kind of out of left field but I'm thinking her writing reminds me a bit of J. D. Salinger's.

I have not read any Salinger in a number of years -- but the thing I remember best about it is the excellent description of people feeling discomfort around other people and failing to connect with them. And I'm picking up on that same discomfort as a major them in the few McCullers stories I have read so far. I think there is a similar way of using language too, but I might just be making that up. McCullers is (thankfully) missing the stuff that annoys me about Salinger -- the precious Glass family situation and the bogus mysticism.

I am wishing now, that I had read these stories as an adolescent -- thinking they might have been really helpful.

posted evening of Sunday, August 6th, 2006
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