Friday, July 03, 2015
Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn.
Well, I'm a couple of chapters in and find it to be a beautifully written work, painting a vivid picture of the South through words. Did that version ever exist? Maybe, probably not. The fact that reading it now weirdly feels like a small act of defiance is a bonus, though. And more than a little bit sad. From immaculate sculptures to silly TV shows from 30 years ago about backwoods moonshiners never meaning no harm, we can appreciate and learn from art, its roots being good or bad, innocent or less than so. Let's put it in it's proper historical context, not completely eradicate it from our collective consciousness just because it displeases us today. I'm sure the Dixie Chicks would agree.
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