There is often something violent in the works of Flannery O’Connor. In A Good Man Is Hard to Find and Other Stories, the weakest stories are those in which nothing happens—like “A Stroke of Good Fortune” or “A Late Encounter with the Enemy”—stories of nothing happening, the domain of Chekhov, are not her thing. In her best stories, there’s usually something shocking, something violent or brutal or destructive. And she doesn’t hold back.
Flannery O’Connor is a strange, fascinating writer. Strange, because she has a weird way of seeing and depicting things, and I often find her elusive. Fascinating, as she has an imposing personality and an uncompromising, pitiless quality.
Above all, it is strange that I don’t know what draws me to her short stories. Not long ago, I tweeted that I didn’t find the great works of Russian literature depressing even though they depicted war, disease, death, cruelty, humiliation, suffering… whereas the works of Tanizaki (specifically Naomi), Joyce Carol Oates, or Elfriede Jelinek filled me with disgust and left a bad taste in my mouth. The difference, I’ve concluded, is in vision: Tolstoy, Chekhov, Dostoyevsky…, in spite of everything, still demonstrate a love of life and humanity, and a belief in freedom and human dignity; Vasily Grossman, even when he writes about the worst horrors of the 20th century, believes in dignity and kindness and offers a glimpse of hope; whereas the works of Tanizaki, Elfriede Jelinek, or Joyce Carol Oates are devoid of light, depicting human beings as just base and depraved.
I don’t share such a vision of life. Even my current job, in which I regularly speak to refugees, victims of religious persecution, and victims of human trafficking, doesn’t make me cynical, for I still see people stand up for the truth and for justice, I still see people try to help others, I still see people try to make changes.
Why then do I like Flannery O’Connor? She has a dark, dark view of humanity. In one story, a group of fugitives kills an entire family. In two stories, some men deceive and take advantage of disabled women. In another story, a group of adolescents causes havoc for no reason but their own meanness, and sets the woods on fire. And there’s a story in which a grandfather, the moment he’s needed the most, rejects his own grandson and debases himself out of fear and cowardice. It is a cold, brutal world she depicts and there is no glimpse of hope, no glimpse of human kindness.
And yet, her stories don’t leave a bad taste in my mouth. Why? What does she have that Elfriede Jelinek, Joyce Carol Oates, and Tanizaki lack?
She was a Christian who believed in the possibility of redemption, therefore her vision was dark, but hopeful.
ReplyDeleteI don't see the possibility of redemption in "Good Country People" or "A Circle in the Fire" though.
DeleteShe wasn't always successful.
DeleteI don't think she was aiming for that in those stories.
DeleteThe ever-generous Gore Vidal once said that the three saddest words in the English language are Joyce Carol Oates.
ReplyDeleteHahaha there's always someone referencing that whenever I mention (in a negative way) Joyce Carol Oates somewhere.
DeleteThe thing is, there's some Oates that I've liked. I liked Bellefleur, and I thought her short novel Black Water (a thinly - very thinly - disguised version of the Chappaquiddick incident was as sharp as a razor. She is too prolific, though - I read a review of one of her books titled, "Stop Me Before I Write Again."
DeleteI've read some short stories, Rape: A Love Story, part of The Tattooed Girl. Might have read them, though I can't say for sure.
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