The first comprehensive study of one of the most popular and critically acclaimed short story collections of the nineteenth century -- Old Creole Days (1879), by New Orleans author George Washington Cable. Each tale is closely analyzed, revealing Cable's technique, style, motifs, and sources, as well as his impact on later Southern writers such as William Faulkner and Flannery O'Connor.
A pioneering local-color writer about Creole New Orleans and a public advocate for black equality in his native South during and after Reconstruction, George Washington Cable (1844--1925) depicted in his writing the clash between American newcomers and a quaint but proud French-speaking population in post--Louisiana Purchase New Orleans. His work, including the short-story collection Old Creole Days (1879) and his most famous novel, The Grandissimes (1880), received widespread critical acclaim and was serialized in the country's best highbrow magazines. In 1880, Cable was commissioned to write a "historical sketch" of pre--Civil War New Orleans for a special section of the Tenth U. S. Census. Although subsequently revised and published as Creoles of Louisiana, Cable's original piece never appeared in print again except as a facsimile reprint. With The New Orleans of George Washington Cable, Lawrence N. Powell presents this rare text in its entirety for the first time, including Cable's copious footnotes and other material deleted from the original census publication by its editors. Likened by northern critics to Nathaniel Hawthorne and Bret Harte, Cable was already a literary sensation by the time he undertook the census project. He approached writing history as seriously as he did writing fiction, and he attacked his new challenge with vigor. Instead of the "sketch" he was asked to provide, Cable turned in 313 pages of meticulously documented history -- complete with 647 footnotes -- on everything from the origins of the city and its role in the Indian wars to the effect of West Indian immigration, the War of 1812, and commercial expansion through the mid-nineteenth century. He used sources in English, French, and Spanish, drawing on published histories, early maps, official surveys, travel accounts, medical journals, sanitation reports, city ordinances, American State Papers, city directories, and the New Orleans--based DeBow's Review -- a treasure trove of history, journalism, and useful statistics -- for his lively account of the Crescent City. In an invaluable introduction to Cable's text, Powell illuminates the circumstances surrounding Cable's turn to historical writing and sheds new light on his controversial relations with white Creoles. Cable's forays into Creole culture aroused considerable hostility, as Powell ably demonstrates in his analysis of Cable's rivalry with Creole historian Charles Gayarré. Although Cable's vocal support for full civil rights for African Americans eventually forced him to leave New Orleans for Massachusetts, he continued to write novels, stories, and nonfiction about the Crescent City and the South. As Powell shows in his introduction, Cable's vast historical research fundamentally influenced both his development as a writer and his evolution as a political reformer.
Nationalism and the Color Line in George W. Cable, Mark Twain, and William Faulkner is a strikingly original study of works by three postbellum novelists with strong ties to the Deep South and Mississippi Valley. In it, Barbara Ladd argues that writers like Cable, Twain, and Faulkner cannot be read exclusively within the context of a nationalistically defined "American" literature, but must also be understood in light of the cultural legacy that French and Spanish colonialism bestowed on the Deep South and the Mississippi River Valley, specifically with respect to the very different ways these colonialist cultures conceptualized race, color, and nationality.Ladd probes the work of these writers for discontinuities, for moments of narrative incoherence, from which she charts the ideological winds that blew through the United States in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. In Cable's The Grandissimes, written at the beginning of the Redemption era, the discontinuities are strategic whispers to the reader about the reality of racial division and violence that lay beneath the white reconciliation romance. Twain's Pudd'nhead Wilson and Those Extraordinary Twins also inscribes racial discord, although with the added dimension of experimentation with form. And in Absalom, Absalom! and Light in August, narrative incoherence becomes central as Faulkner explores the impact of radical racism on the ways that whiteness was constructed in the early twentieth century. Neither "race" nor "nation," Ladd shows, is stable in the work of these writers, but is always contested and shifting.Ladd's book raises provocative questions about the relationships between race, region, and nationalism in literary study. With its innovative approach and rich New Historicist method, it is an important contribution to scholarship in several fields.
From the mid-nineteenth century through at least the first half of the twentieth, the southern code of appropriate feminine behavior required that women depend on sources outside themselves for sustenance, direction, and expression. The chivalric ideal that placed the southern lady on a pedestal often created within her gracious and gentle exterior a turmoil of frustration, confusion, and resentment. This concept of upper middle-class, white southern womanhood forms an important part of the imaginative expression of the southern women writers whose works and lives form the subject matter of this book. All seven—Augusta Jane Evans, Grace King, Kate Chopin, Mary Johnston, Ellen Glasgow, Frances Newman, and Margaret Mitchell—were themselves products of this genteel tradition. Anne Goodwyn Jones explains that her aim is not to link biography and art but to seek, in the lives and works of these seven southern women writers, common patterns that can lead to ways to discern the mind of the southern lady. Tomorrow Is Another Day shows that, by writing themselves and their characters into being, by expressing their voices—however variant in tone—“these seven writers wrote themselves into another day.”
In 1843, the Louisiana Supreme Court heard the case of a slave named Sally Miller, who claimed to have been born a free white person in Germany. This text explores this legal case and its reflection on broader questions about race, society, and law in the antebellum South.
All of these historical factors energize and enrich the fiction of this important region. The literary context of these volumes is also central to understanding their place in literary history. They are short-story cycles--collections of short fiction that contain unifying settings, recurring characters or character types, and central themes and motifs. They are also examples of the "local color" tradition in fiction, a movement that has been much misunderstood. Nagel maintains that "local color" literature was meant to be the highest form of American writing, not the lowest, and its objective was to capture the locations, folkways, values, dialects, conflicts, and ways of life in the various regions of the country in order to show that the lives of common citizens were sufficiently important to be the subject of serious literature.
In the early years of the nineteenth century, the burgeoning cultural pride of white Creoles in New Orleans intersected with America's golden age of print, to explosive effect. Imagining the Creole City reveals the profusion of literary output -- histories and novels, poetry and plays -- that white Creoles used to imagine themselves as a unified community of writers and readers. Rien Fertel argues that Charles Gayarré's English-language histories of Louisiana, which emphasized the state's dual connection to America and to France, provided the foundation of a white Creole print culture predicated on Louisiana's exceptionalism. The writings of authors like Grace King, Adrien Rouquette, and Alfred Mercier consciously fostered an image of Louisiana as a particular social space, and of themselves as the true inheritors of its history and culture. In turn, the forging of this white Creole identity created a close-knit community of cosmopolitan Creole elites, who reviewed each other's books, attended the same salons, crusaded against the popular fiction of George Washington Cable, and worked together to preserve the French language in local and state governmental institutions. Together they reimagined the definition of "Creole" and used it as a marker of status and power. By the end of this group's era of cultural prominence, Creole exceptionalism had become a cornerstone in the myth of Louisiana in general and of New Orleans in particular. In defining themselves, the authors in the white Creole print community also fashioned a literary identity that resonates even today.
Following the American Civil War, many former Confederates fled their southern homeland. Some became expatriates, settling in Canada, Europe, Mexico, South America, and Asia. Others mi-grated to the western United States, seeking fresh starts in the newly forming territories. But a third, somewhat more audacious group invaded the land of their Yankee foe. Settling in northeastern and midwestern towns and cities, these "Confederate carpetbaggers" believed that northern economic and educational opportunities offered the quickest means of rebuilding shattered fortunes and lives. In The Confederate Carpetbaggers, Daniel E. Sutherland examines the lives of those southern men and women who moved north between 1865 and 1880. Dealing with their various motives for moving north, problems of adaptation to northern society, attempts to find new identities, and efforts to maintain personal ties with other Confederates in the North as well as with old friends in the South, Sutherland provides a detailed and illuminating account of the contributions these displaced southerners made to the financial, literary, artistic, and political life of the nation. The principal characters in Sutherland’s story are Burton Norvell Harrison, who served as private secretary to Jefferson Davis, and his wife, Constance Cary Harrison, a popular belle in wartime Richmond. In 1867 the Harrisons moved to New York City, where they remained for four decades. Their exploits, beliefs, and emotions serve as a prism through which to view the successes and failures of other Confederate carpetbaggers. Although some emigrants returned to the South after brief, unpleasant northern sojourns, others spent the remainder of their lives in the North. Some became millionaires; others suffered poverty and ill health. Some became famous; most settled into tolerable, unobtrusive lives as productive citizens in a reunited nation. Sutherland’s study breaks new and significant ground in explaining the complexities of Reconstruction and late nineteenth-century American life. Traditional approaches to Reconstruction history concentrate on the South, particularly on the plight of freedmen and on the political battle for control of state governments. Some scholars have made passing references to the most prominent Confederates in the North, but until now no one has explored the lives of these men and women in detail. In this entertaining and well-written account, Sutherland suggests that while the Confederate carpetbaggers were relatively few in number, they made significant contributions to American progress in the years following the war—contributions they might not have made had they remained in the South.
In a major revision of accepted wisdom, this book, originally published by UNC Press in 1991, demonstrates that American social Christianity played an important role in racial reform during the period between Emancipation and the civil rights movement.
After World War II, elite private universities in the South faced growing calls for desegregation. Though, unlike their peer public institutions, no federal court ordered these schools to admit black students and no troops arrived to protect access to the schools, to suggest that desegregation at these universities took place voluntarily would be misleading In Desegregating Private Higher Education in the South,Melissa Kean explores how leaders at five of the region's most prestigious private universities -- Duke, Emory, Rice, Tulane, and Vanderbilt -- sought to strengthen their national position and reputation while simultaneously answering the increasing pressure to end segregation. To join the upper echelon of U. S. universities, these schools required increased federal and northern philanthropic funding. Clearly, to receive this funding, schools had to eliminate segregation, and so a rift appeared within the leadership of the schools. University presidents generally favored making careful accommodations in their racial policies for the sake of academic improvement, but universities' boards of trustees -- the presidents' main opponents -- served as the final decision-makers on university policy. Board members--usually comprised of professional, white, male alumni--reacted strongly to threats against southern white authority and resisted determinedly any outside attempts to impose desegregation. The grassroots civil rights movement created a national crisis of conscience that led many individuals and institutions vital to the universities' survival to insist on desegregation. The schools felt enormous pressure to end discrimination as northern foundations withheld funding, accrediting bodies and professional academic associations denied membership, divinity students and professors chose to study and teach elsewhere, and alumni withheld contributions. The Brown v. Board of Education decision in 1954 gave the desegregation debate a sense of urgency and also inflamed tensions -- which continued to mount into the early 1960s. These tensions and the boards' resistance to change created an atmosphere of crisis that badly eroded their cherished role as southern leaders. When faced with the choice between institutional viability and segregation, Kean explains, they gracelessly relented, refusing to the end to admit they had been pressured by outside forces. Shedding new light on a rare, unexamined facet of the civil rights movement, Desegregating Private Higher Education in the South fills a gap in the history of the academy.
