Tuscaloosa: Riversong
...bodies in the trees, twirling legless. I sang until morning. I sang, and the white ones were here sniffing an empty breast. They are here but I cannot die. My...
The South as Foil: A Review of This Is Not Dixie
...compare their own racial goodness. They can then deny, sanitize, or simply not see the profound anti-black racism in their own sections. Furthermore, when confronted by it, they can depict...
Rethinking the Geography of Lynching
...the Los Angeles Times Book Award in History. Wood was co-guest editor with Susan V. Donaldson of Mississippi Quarterly's 2008 "Special Issue on Lynching and American Culture," and the editor...
Shaping a Southern Soundscape
...when they sang it with their voices in their accents, performed it with their hands, and heard it with their ears? They did not use the term "southern music" in...
Gulf of Knowledge: The Hidden Scientific History of the Early American Southeast
...other institutional spaces. In this way, Strang's study joins others that widen the scope of early American knowledge-making, including Susan Scott Parrish's American Curiosity: Cultures of Natural History in the...
Antietam
We all went in a yellow school bus, on a Tuesday. We sang the whole way up. We tried to picture the bodies stacked three deep on either side of...
Mother Jones: Back in Alabama
...prison than out. "The most dangerous woman in America," one prosecutor called her; "She is a wonder," her friend Carl Sandberg wrote; "The walking wrath of God," Upton Sinclair declared....
Sonic Zora in Florida
...when 'colored' hotel rooms couldn't be had, defending herself against jealous women, putting up with bedbugs, lack of sanitation, and poor food in some of the turpentine camps, sawmills, and...
An Unflinching Look: An Interview with Photographer Benjamin Dimmitt
...Yes. It's so interconnected. One thing that Susan Cerulean goes into in her essay at the beginning of An Unflinching Look is that there has always been a lens—which is a...
Gone With the Wind
...flickering neon and fire, like Atlanta spilling into the night, and the Princess, here, in miniature, painted by the flickering of a model trolley's tiny headlamps on the tiny corner...