Cussedness
The natural cussedness of things in general.
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The Member of the Wedding by Carson McCullers
McCullers is one of those authors I have seen frequently and reverently referred to, but who I have never actually read. I have to confess that The Member of the Wedding has left me rather nonplussed, probably because I am not sufficiently American to appreciate the scenery, and never having been a twelve year old girl I am unable to really relate to the protagonist, Frankie, who I found infuriating. McCullers captures the self-centredness of childhood very well. She may also have captured a picture-perfect snapshot of the deep south of the USA during WW2, but as everything is refracted through Frankie’s eyes it’s hard to tell. Berenice, the family servant, provides some relief, and allows us to see a little way beyond the claustrophobic bounds of Frankie’s universe; her commentary on life as a black woman in the 1940s south is compelling. The writing is similarly mixed, shot through by vivid imagery, but is hard to engage with, much like the novel itself.