The Habit of Being – Flannery O’Connor
This book contains nearly 600 pages of letters O’Connor wrote. A friend, Sally Fitzgerald, did the collecting and editing; apparently she contacted people O’Connor had corresponded with (also friends); then, from the letters they gave her, she selected what to include. In a project like this, there’s the possibility that friendship played role in what was used. Even if this is so, the Flannery that emerges is a vital and unique personality. I was entertained by her humor, her attitude (mostly amiable and generous, sometimes prickly), her comments on the fiction she read, and her “local color” storytelling. After a visit from “A,” Flannery writes her that the black housekeeper, Louise, “came down from upstairs and said ‘Miss A ain’t slep in the bed.’ ” Regina (Flannery’s mother) “asked her where she thought you had slept if you hadn’t slep in the bed. She said that she didn’t know but you hadn’t slep in the bed. She said maybe you slep on the flo. She said them sheets wasn’t used. . . . You will have to untangle this with her yourself the next time you come.” The visit from “A” was important to Flannery; she was a very sociable person, and she often sent out invitations (“Ask anybody you like to stop, as people stopping is about the only way I get to see anybody except for my little trips occasionally which I have less and less enthusiasm for – at least the going. I like it all right after I get there.”) Despite physical infirmities, she traveled (mostly on crutches) extensively. She gave talks and readings and attended panels at universities all over the country. It’s clear that in her lifetime O’Connor was considered to be a major writer. But she never lost her dependence on the opinions of others; she was constantly asking people she respected to read her work and give her feedback as to its strengths and weaknesses. And she made revisions using the suggestions she considered sound. Some of what she wrote she found to be “very sorry,” but she looked upon her failures as instructive. She worked hard at her craft. In a way, being an invalid – though it limited her life experiences – enabled her to concentrate on what she cared deeply about. In one of her last letters, when lupus was closing in on her, she wrote, “As far as I’m concerned, as long as I can get to a typewriter, I have enough.” Lupus first struck at age twenty-six, and she retreated to her family farm in Milledgeville, Georgia (and to the care of her mother, to whom Fitzgerald dedicates this book); she dealt with physical (but not mental or emotional) problems for the rest of her life, and she died at age thirty-nine. What’s absent from her letters is any lamenting of her state. No attempt to garner sympathy. Perhaps it was due to pride – she didn’t want to be pitied. And her religion undoubtedly gave her strength. She was a Catholic, and much of what she writes in her letters is about religion. I skipped these sections; I also believe that the religious significance she incorporates into her work is its weakest aspect. In my review of Everything That Rises Must Converge I offer my take on her personality, one that I deduced from her stories. Now that I’ve read this book, I can’t alter those conclusions, mainly because I get the feeling that in these letters she kept a lid on her deepest emotions. Habit of Being is a bit long – there’s a lot of repetition. Still, I’m glad I got to spend time with Flannery. There’s much to admire about her, as a person and as a writer. I’ll close with words that she would appreciate: She made an indelible mark on American fiction.

Dead Calm – Charles Williams
A good thriller. It takes place on two yachts in the middle of the Pacific and has a cast of five. Foremost are Ingram and Rae, a middle-aged couple on their honeymoon. They cross paths with another yacht that’s foundering; a young man is paddling a dinghy toward them. Ingram is suspicious of Hughie’s story as to what occurred on the sinking boat, and when Hughie is asleep he paddles his dingy over to investigate. He finds two people that Hughie had locked in a cabin – where they would drown. Before Ingram can get back to Rae Hughie has forcibly taken control of their yacht and is hightailing off, engine at full throttle. So Ingram and Rae are on separate boats; he must keep the one he’s on afloat and deal with its passengers, she must rescue Ingram by taking possession of hers from deranged Hughie. Neither task will be easy. Williams knows about boats and sailing; I know zilch about those subjects, so I let the technical stuff pass by (though I appreciated the authenticity it imparted). The author is also thorough in his portrayal of the emotional states of his characters. In the case of Hughie, he goes into some psychoanalyzing which I found unconvincing. But he’s on solid ground with the two people whose minds we’re in. Rae and Ingram are in love, and they do all they can to save one another. Or almost all – Rae is incapable of shooting Hughie. Even when she has him in the sights of a rifle she can’t bring herself to pull the trigger. There must be another way . . . In this day of casual violence in books and movies, I found her reluctance refreshing. Also, when all is over, there’s a sense that this experience will be hard for Rae to recover from. Williams understood that violence can alter one’s life. These extra dimensions elevate Dead Calm from the status of mere entertainment.