Welty VS. O'Connor

C and I decided last night that Eudora Welty and Flannery O'Connor—though like minded and of the strongest southern piquancy—could only be distinguished by one rating system: 

Cool-ass VS. Bad-ass.

Here she is, in all her splendor. Eudora Welty. Have you met her? You should. Welty is definitely cool.  Too cool for school. Too cool for full-length pants. Too cool for a proper desk. Her vision of the American South reflects just such a coolness. 

Even in the midst of that slight apocalyptic feeling that she unravels her readers with—burn everything in the house cause we gave our only clothes to the garden to keep it warm!—she still handles her characters with sincerity and tenderness. She's equal parts portentous and endearing. You'll love watching her world unfold, even if the experience becomes, at times, jarring or down-in-the-dumps. 

Then there's Flannery O'Connor...

  

Just look at her. Flannery could be Eudora's best friend—heck, her cousin!—but don't drop your guard for a second. Where Eudora might tiptoe into the dark, Flannery straps on a pair of combat boots and goes for a waltz. She's not cool. She's bad. Hell's Angels would look for a detour just to get around her without having to look her in the eye.

What makes her so bad? O'Connor never really lets anyone off the hook—even the reader feels like some squirming animal trying to wriggle its tail out from under her foot. She deals, heavy-handed, with the soul. With faith and doubt and consequences. She deals in sweltering, gothic symbols. There is never really anywhere to hide and always always always there's the sense of something lurking in every direction. Read A View of the Woods or The Turkey. Heck—read 'em all. But be sure to keep the light on.