The way it happens, the way it is passed down and told, and the identity of the storyteller or historian -- has long been a anxiety of the Southern writer. Robert Penn Warren's Jack problem rotates out ideas of history and is in detail burdened by the inquiry of causality, haunted by the subject of his unfinished dissertation. Two of William Faulkner's protagonists, Quentin Compson and Ike McCaslin, bear the annals of persons who have preceded them and the consequences of that history. Often these characters part simultaneously their own versions of the past; however, they rarely do well in defining a way to proceed, an approach to individual annals that allows them to contemplate on the past without evolving consumed by it. Both Absalom, Absalom! and All the King's Men show how individual features recreate tales in order to recognize and arrive to periods with components of history. In these books, both the book reader and the individual features become very reliant on the multiple storytellers, who construct, and often deconstruct, the location, the time, the situation, and the persons engaged.
LUCILLE ODOM, THE NARRATOR OF wealthy in Love (1987), confides in the reader as she investigations her persona, "But I was angling for a outlook of certain thing else, a look inward,"(1) and her phrases resonate with the question that readers and detractors of up to date south fiction should address: is there actually still such a thing as "Southern literature," or are we angling for a view of certain thing else?The explosion of new south fiction, a large piece of which has been in writing by women, is needing a reexamination of the characteristics that have defined the south narrative for so long: love of location; reverence for land and family; reliance upon community; ...