By William Styron
Three autobiographically encouraged novellas through Styron that inform the tale of a tender writer’s trip to adulthood
William Styron’s A Tidewater Morning positive aspects 3 novellas established round budding novelist Paul Whitehurst’s coming of age throughout the nice melancholy and moment global battle.
They exhibit Whitehurst’s fight to deal with his mother’s terminal melanoma, his view of the strained racial kinfolk within the pre-war American South, and his anxiousness as a marine getting ready to land at the shorelines of Okinawa.
Each novella weaves jointly the transformative reviews of Whitehurst’s formative years with Styron’s signature deep old perception, underscoring how the importance of the prior informs the present.
This publication contains a new illustrated biography of William Styron, together with unique letters, infrequent pictures, and never-before-seen records from the Styron kin and the Duke collage documents.
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Extra resources for A Tidewater Morning: Three Tales from Youth
Quite a bit of empty grocery store air got sealed in the tray with the ham. But with the new equipment there's scarcely a bubble of space that isn't taken up by pure ham. Maybe you too have seen meat packaged this way. The form of a poem ought to be like that. What's important, after all, is the ham cubes—that is, the words and images of the poem, not what contains them. The form ought to fit the poem just like that shrinkwrap, and be just that transparent, so you can look right through the form to the ham.
Form is an integral part of any art because art affirms order, but the form you choose doesn't have to be somebody else's form. It can be yours; and, as in Ron Rash's poem in syllables, "The Men Who Raised the Dead," cited in the last chapter, it can even be kept hidden. Here's a poem by B. H. Fairchild in fixed form, a sestina, into which the poetry fits comfortably: •*• T H E R E IS C O N S T A N T M O V E M E N T I N MY H E A D The choreographer from Nebraska is listening to her mother's cane hammering the dance floor, down down, like some gaunt, rapacious bird digging at a rotted limb.
But let's say that the really good parts of the poem begin to happen at about the tenth line and all the business about the wiring isn't really all that important. Too often it seems as if, in the poet's first few lines, he or she is writing toward the poem, including information that is really not essential but is there because it was a part of the event that triggered the poem. It's the background story, and it may not be necessary for us to know it to appreciate the poem. One evening my wife and I had dinner with an acquaintance who was one of those tedious storytellers who puts every detail into the story just because it happened.