South of Broad
Pat Conroy
2009
528 pgs.
When you first open the pages of "South of Broad," there's little doubt that the author behind the pen is southern novelist Pat Conroy. The book is the embodiment of the southern author. It is an engrossing page-turner. It is lyrical and passionate. Conroy's florid prose enables the reader to see, smell and feel Charleston in the 1960s, 1970s and 1980s and to empathize with the characters he develops so convincingly.
In this book, there is a central cast of characters all of whom have the narrator, Leopold Bloom King, as their touchstone. King is a goofy kid in the early 1960s with little confidence, a strict mother (who is a former nun and James Joyce scholar), a kind father and affable older brother.
The story's foundation is King's bout with depression following the suicide of his brother and his own subsequent arrest for possession of cocaine. The opening pages were reminiscent of Judith Guest's 1970s bestseller "Ordinary People."
Friendless, rehabilitated and ready to start his senior year in high school, King accepts a challenge from his mother - also the principal of the public school he attends - to befriend a mixed bag of newcomers to the school. This potpourri includes a trio of mountain country orphan's, the son of the first black football coach at the high school, a boyfriend and girlfriend from the best families in the city who find themselves expelled from the private school and the two beauties - twins Sheba and Trevor. Both are incredibly attractive and talented. Both like the boys. And both are being hunted by their father.
Like Conroy's earlier novels - this is his first in 14 years - the readers are immersed in his love of the tidal country of South Carolina as well as his love of the Citadel and his ambivalence with Catholicism. Classism, racism, destructive family relationships, rape and damaged children run deep in this novel.
And, like many of his books, Conroy offers the dark foreshadowing. And this would probably be my biggest disappointment in this book. Early on - and I won't be a spoiler by telling you on what page - there was an observation by the protagonist that struck me like a thunderbolt. I knew right then what zinger I would find at the end of the book. And, I was right. I felt a little cheated.
In fact, I felt a little cheated with Conroy's entire denouement. The novel builds and builds for 525 pages and 20 years and then he wraps it up in a few words. I felt empty.
But, those 525 pages - including a glimpse at the lives of a rich and famous movie star, an aids-stricken musician, a police chief and his partner, a successful lawyer, a loyal housewife, a paranoid schizophrenic and, of course a journalist, were wonderful and spellbinding.
Not quite as satisfying as "Prince of Tides" and "The Great Santini," but a filling literary treat indeed.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Monday, June 22, 2009
Father's Day Column
Early County News
Katy Pando, editor
circa 1998
He’s The Master Of Silence
“What did my dad ever do for me?,” I thought to myself during a rare moment of reflection.
With Father’s Day fast approaching, I began thinking about my dad – my best friend – and what he has done for me.
And, then I started wondering, “Hey, what about all those things he didn’t do for me?”
Where was he when I threatened to drop out of school and hang out with the gang the rest of my life?
And, after securing my first paying job after college, where was he when I bought my first car? He didn’t say a word when I showed up with a 1947 bright red Chevrolet pickup truck with cracked windows and only a single door handle.
Two years later he kept his silence when I sold the old truck because the repair bills were running three times as much as the bank loan. He does enjoy owning the old red truck, though.
Dad never said a word when I dated fellows that he would prefer not to darken his doorway.
And, to this day, he only smiles when I say something really, really stupid. Which, I’m afraid, is all too often.
“What’s this guy’s problem?” I asked myself as I reflected on my relationship with this man.
Why does he keep his mouth shut so tight so much of the time?
Then I realized why. Dad knows when to keep his mouth shut. He is the master of silence – and he knows it can overpowers words.
I’m glad he’s the Master of Silence. It has saved me embarrassment of having to hear the truth and allowed me the confidence to learn it on my own.
Happy Father’s Day, Dad.
Katy Pando, editor
circa 1998
He’s The Master Of Silence
“What did my dad ever do for me?,” I thought to myself during a rare moment of reflection.
With Father’s Day fast approaching, I began thinking about my dad – my best friend – and what he has done for me.
And, then I started wondering, “Hey, what about all those things he didn’t do for me?”
Where was he when I threatened to drop out of school and hang out with the gang the rest of my life?
And, after securing my first paying job after college, where was he when I bought my first car? He didn’t say a word when I showed up with a 1947 bright red Chevrolet pickup truck with cracked windows and only a single door handle.
Two years later he kept his silence when I sold the old truck because the repair bills were running three times as much as the bank loan. He does enjoy owning the old red truck, though.
Dad never said a word when I dated fellows that he would prefer not to darken his doorway.
And, to this day, he only smiles when I say something really, really stupid. Which, I’m afraid, is all too often.
“What’s this guy’s problem?” I asked myself as I reflected on my relationship with this man.
Why does he keep his mouth shut so tight so much of the time?
Then I realized why. Dad knows when to keep his mouth shut. He is the master of silence – and he knows it can overpowers words.
I’m glad he’s the Master of Silence. It has saved me embarrassment of having to hear the truth and allowed me the confidence to learn it on my own.
Happy Father’s Day, Dad.
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