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Rick Bragg's writing isn't the greatest literary achievement ever, enthusiastic and generous reader though I am, even I cringed a little at some of the rather obvious images he uses from time to time. This is journalese, but it's good journalese because it's so honest and also because the unmistakenly Southern way of using language makes for a relaxed, easy read. I think Rick Bragg has a pretty good handle on the big picture himself, he can see the good and the bad in the world, in other people, and especially in himself and while he's sad about the bad parts he's rueful, rather than harsh and condemning. He sounds like a nice man to me. He's written a book about himself and his family, it's interesting to me especially for that, but he's also written about a dirt-poor upbringing in the deep South in a way which will add to anyone's understanding of the wider social situation at that time - while many black Americans have told their stories, and rightly so, the disparagingly named 'white trash' people have produced far fewer testimonies. He's also written about an eventful career in journalism covering some of the most distressing news stories of recent times.
But still, for me, it's the first part of Redbirds that is the most evocative, the childhood memories are the most striking and thought -provoking. I think I'll carry with me for a very long time the image of Rick Bragg as a child, watching his mother - too poor, too embarrassed, too ashamed of her clothes and the holes in her sneakers to go to church - praying along with the television preachers, hands on top of an old TV set:
"If I live to be a hundred, I will never forget her, eyes closed, lips moving in prayer, both hands pressed to the warm plastic top of the black-and-white television. On the screen was a young Oral Roberts in shades of grey, assuring my momma that God was close, that she could feel Him if her faith was strong enough, coursing through that second hand Zenith... All you had to do was reach out and feel the screen, feel that warmth, that electricity, and be Saved. I reached out to touch it myself once or twice, but all I felt was the hot glow of the picture tube."
And I think that his mother, and his grandmother will see his book as a welcome continuation to the South's tradition of storytelling. I hope they do anyway, they should, because that's how I felt when I read it, like I was sitting there, on the porch, listening to the story being told rather than reading it. And I think Rick Bragg would like to hear that.
For an equally evocative story of childhood, try [[Toast]] by Nigel Slater. You might also appreciate [[Carry Me Home by Terri Wiltshire]].
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