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In my recent readings I came across a great story by Flannery O’Connor. As you might have
noticed I rather like short stories because I can learn a lot, quickly. If you are ever hard up for
literature and you need to get your fix, find a short story as fast as you can and you’ll be fine.
Now, back to Flannery O’Connor.
I will give you highlights of what I have learned, and then refer you to others who know so much more. She was born in Georgia in 1925, where she was raised strictly Catholic. These two important facts would shape her entire writing career. She died at the age of 38 from Lupus, which she never let get in the way of her writing. If you ever wake up and think that you don’t feel good enough to get anything down on paper, remember Flannery O’Connor who, in spite of her fatal disease, set aside three hours each morning from 9 a.m. to 12 p.m. to write. She wrote about life, and especially death. She wrote about that moment right before a person dies, where their true self comes forth, perhaps a self that never really appeared so obviously in life until that moment right before they are about to lose it. Her stories continuously focused on tragedies, deaths, and violence. When you see her picture, you’ll find all of that interesting. She looked mild mannered and quiet, and in fact she was guarded of her opinions, even though she had many, because of the area she lived in, where independent opinions were not always appreciated. However, her writing set her free and she managed to reach a very broad audience. An audience she knew was not entirely Catholic. Although O’Connor’s considered herself a Catholic writer, she was also acutely aware that the general public would quickly be turned off from a story that seemed to preach to them. Therefore, much of her writing contains symbolism that when read by a Catholic is completely clear, and Go To Page: 1 2 |
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