The Istoriaphile’s Corner

When I was a kid, I used to think Great Writers were also Great People. I mean, how could anyone with such a complete and tender understanding of the human race be anything other than nice? Then I read about Hemingway, Faulkner, Fitzgerald and O’Neill and revised my opinions downward. Great writers but flawed human beings.  REALLY flawed.  Worst Parent Ever level of flaws.  And Lillian Hellman proved lady writers could be just as bad. I fell in love with Hunter S. Thompson’s style, nerve and humor.  When I realized his gonzo behavior was a lifestyle instead of an act, I vowed to never go near him unless I was armed with a cattle prod. By the time I started this blog, I had done a 180 degree pivot from my childhood ideas and now assumed any writer worth admiring was really a rabid wolverine in human clothing. It took an unusual book to change my mind again.  Meanwhile there are Letters… gives me reason to hope novelists will be allowed to rejoin the human race. It’s the story of two 20th century storytellers who seemed to be polar opposites.  Eudora Welty was one the Southern Spinsters whose talent was recognized early…