RIP PAT CONROY

I am very down and dejected. Sad for the loss to literature of the great Southern writer Pat Conroy, and grieving because there will be no more marvelous tales from this storytelling genius. Of all the wonderful writers whose works I have spent pleasurable time, his stories touched me the most, produced characters and observations that were most-closely familiar to my own life. Not only that, but he helped form my thinking on many subjects, from family relations to politics, and even racial issues (and later even the difficulties of dealing with a mentally ill spouse). My Mom knew who I was and my outlook on life, a misfit among my southern classmates and even my family, and when I was in high school she handed me a copy of The Great Santini,. "You should read this," she said. In it I found the author I would love the most and who spoke directly to my heart and mind, someone who helped express the tribulations of being the eldest child to a military officer, a person both feared and admired, and yes, loved, whose bearing and personality (and antiquated understanding of how a boy should be molded) most heavily weighed on my childhood. I ferreted out a copy of The Boo and then The Water is Wide, the latter fitting in nicely with my questioning of unfair racial treatment of African Americans and a companion book to John Howard Griffin's Black Like Me. If I could be a writer, I thought, I'd like to write like Conroy. The Lords of Discipline I devoured in one sitting, I think. What a great story that was. I liked his later fiction too, perhaps not as much as as earlier books, but still they held me and often wrung me out, with beautiful language, compelling stories, and often very personal passages. I waited anxiously for his next volume. His later memoirs were marvelous; then I finally picked up his cookbook, and that proved to be just as good as they rest of his writing. He laid his life bare. He acknowledged his faults, exorcised his demons, and yet you still felt that he deeply loved his troubled family, each and every one of them. Last week I got to peruse some of his papers and I was told of his illness, that it was truly serious. And then came the news this morning that he had passed. One of the greatest moments for me was getting to meet him, shaking his hand and exchanging a few words after he had spoken at a remembrance for James Dickey. I am glad I met him. I will miss him, the world will miss him. He was so funny, and nice, and I know he touched many lives. Even more I will miss his stories. Rest in Peace Mr. Conroy.

CONROY'S READING LIFE

Curse you, Pat Conroy! Another night and most of a day immersed in one of his offerings, My Reading Life; so often have I been consumed by his words and mesmerized by how he retroactively tickled hidden ivories of my own life. And he is wrong when he asserts he never taught after his experience on Daufuskie; perhaps he did not stand before a gaggle of students, but his books entertained and instructed me from the start, a gripping sojourn begun with The Lords of Discipline, a gift from my mother. I tracked down The Boo and The Water Is Wide, and devoured them too, and have swept through all his remaining books (though, I haven’t been able to force myself to read the cookbook). I have many literary loves now, but Lords will remain one of my all-time favorites. I remember quivering outside a USC auditorium, lucky to listen in as he spoke about James Dickey (a speech reproduced in a chapter here), eager to get a glimpse of him, laughing as he told the river story, understanding his impressions of Dickey firsthand (whom I met several times, but did not like); and then he emerged, surrounded by a flock of adoring fans, and I managed to squeeze through and offer my hand, which he took. He looked as if he expected me to ask for his autograph, but I just stared (no doubt with a shit-eating grin) and said, “I just wanted to shake your hand.” I love that my former boss and mentor (in many ways) Matthew Bruccoli allowed me the opportunity to attend, even if I was there to work.

My Reading Life is less a list of important reads, although it is that too, than a memoir of people and places, family and friends, who instructed and influenced his writing. Anyone who loves his stuff will revel in the chapters that flesh out what they already know, because his books have already revealed many of his personal demons. Yet this book is by no means depressing or difficult; the stories are painted with humor and love, and maybe even a little comeuppance, and a dose of humility (possibly forced, as he must know how good he really is). It is also a call to writers, especially younger ones, to read voraciously, experience vicariously and personally, and, it seems, to blaze a path no matter what others say or how they criticize. He sends love letters to some of his favorite authors---Mitchell, Wolfe, Tolstoy, Dickey, among others----as well as explains the importance (and flaws) of people such as teacher Gene Norris, librarian Eileen Hunter, bookseller Cliff Graubart, bookman Norman Berg, and a cast of other colorful characters. I loved his passing relationship with a Japanese man while both were in Paris, as his breakfasting partner asserts in response to the arrogant waiters that Japan should have passed over Pearl Harbor and attacked France. If you love Conroy, you will feel as if you are listening in his parlor, and hopefully it may bring new readers to his novels.

SOUTH OF BROAD

If Pat Conroy published a shopping list, I would probably search for it and read it. Ever since around 1980, when my mother recommended The Lords of Discipline to me, I have been a faithful fan. Part of that devotion may be my having lived on the edges of Charleston (up to fifth grade) and the fact that some of his upbringing roughly parallels that of mine (military father, marshes, South). I loved Great Santini, Prince of Tides, and Water is Wide. I even tracked down a copy of Boo. Although I am seldom awed by the famous or wealthy, I was somewhat starstruck when I finally got to meet Conroy in person, while he was giving a talk in Columbia about his memories of poet and novelist James Dickey. He turned out to be as gracious and pleasant as many of the Southern characters he pens. I have often found myself trading away hours of sleep in order to avoid putting down his latest novel (although I confess that the only thing I haven’t read of his is the cookbook). I enjoyed his nonfictional My Losing Season, as well as Beach Music (though it was probably my least favorite of his novels).

So, I was very excited when I heard Conroy had a new novel, South of Broad, coming out, roughly ten years after his last effort. I immediately lost much-needed rest. Dysfunctional families and individuals are his stock and trade, and this book is chock full of them. The story is placed during the cauldron of desegregation and high-school life (primarily the exploits of the integrated football team) in 1969 Charleston, as a small group of disparate and damaged souls comes together and forms a strong (yet often disputatious) bond that lasts into adulthood. The star the group circles around is protagonist Leo King, a young man recovering from the loss of an adored older brother (suicide) and the parenting of a stern, rigid, ex-Catholic nun mother (who is also the principal of his high school), a role that is moderated by the love and attention of a softer, understanding, and supportive father. King---who is ending several years of probation (having taken the rap for a drug crime he didn’t commit), extensive mental care, and slave-like community service (for a crotchety antiques dealer)---is asked to be a moderating influence between the races in the newly integrated public school and on the football team, as well as to serve as shepherd (similar in ways to the story in Lords of Discipline) to three high-society kids, forced out of their private school; several orphans, including a brother and sister from the mountains of North Carolina; and two damaged, but talented, twin neighbors---one a beautiful, uninhibited, and rebellious girl (Sheba, destined for stardom in Hollywood) and the other a beautiful, flamboyant gay boy (Trevor, destined for local fame in San Francisco as a pianist). King, although apparently rather homely (but well-known because of a long-standing stint as newspaper delivery boy), has a deep heart and manages to achieve his tasks of maintaining racial harmony and stability for the group, but he pays a hard price after marrying Starla (one of the NC orphans), who suffers from borderline personality disorder. He becomes best friends with his black co-captain (whose father is the new coach). While their youthful actions and bonding are important to the tale, the major storyline occurs twenty years later as the truth of their lives unravels while several members of the clique attempt to save Trevor from a terrible fate in California, as well as defend themselves from the twin’s evil father and the onrushing hurricane Hugo.

Conroy loves and understands Charleston and The Citadel, particularly, and the strengths of the book are place and character. Readers familiar with his books will feel pretty comfortable. However, the first part of the book seemed rushed---almost cramped---as he tried to jam things together, to situate the characters, and provide the bedrock of the story. . .it almost felt that he might have written the first section last, and in a hurry. King’s character seemed a bit unrealistic at times, and some of the wordplay seemed outside of that which I was familiar with. Yes, people call each other terrible things, even in jest, but I simply can’t see some phrases tumbling from the lips of most Charlestonians I knew, even the most racist (if they were upper-class). I really enjoyed the love story between King's parents and descriptions of the area (a city that I really like, but do not want to live in). Once the story morphed into their adult lives, it seemed to flow better (even accepting certain scenes that didn’t ring true). Perhaps there were just too many subplots (coverage of which could have accounted for an addition 200-300 pages), but perhaps he was under length or time constraints. There are a lot of disturbing parts (incest, pedophilia, AIDS, racism) that one might want to consider if a young adult choses to pick up the book.

Overall, I enjoyed the book, and heartily recommend it. It touched me personally in several areas. . .particularly Leo’s relationship to Starla. He is a classic codependent personality who cannot give up on his crazy wife. Been there, done that! (Though I got enough help to finally cut the ropes that were dragging me down into the abyss). I just hope we do not have to wait an additional ten years for his next story.