Editor's note: This is the first part of a two-part column. The second track will be released on Ovation on February 10th.
Missouri has long dipped its toe into the edge of the deep swamp that is Gothic literature—one of the voices of the South, if you will, though Gothic literature has since seeped into the Midwest.
Growing up in, shall we say, “less expressive” Minnesota, I've been fascinated by William Faulkner's phantasmagorical, gritty work—”As I Die” revolutionized my understanding of great literature since high school. “A Good Man is Hard to Find” by Flannery O'Connor impressed me. My conservative background and sentimental young mind left me ill-prepared for the beauty and darkness of O'Connor's trademark spirituality. And Mark Twain's The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn was my favorite novel in American literature class, with its backwoods adventure and palpable racial tensions as seen through the eyes of an eccentric young boy. To me, the region was mystical and conflicted, a place I thought I would only experience through the written voices of its brooding, tortured legends.
Then, quite by accident, I developed an affection for a man from Arkansas, and suddenly, the South burst into my life in a swarm of realities. I was held back by some of his family's accepted standards of behavior, as I'm sure mine was — for one thing, I don't usually hug people I know goodnight every night, and apparently there are people who do. And the food — and the butter! Let's just say there's no bland and hot food involved. The result of my need for a period of cultural adjustment thrust me once more into the maelstrom of Southern literature, both old and new: I began poring over issues of the Oxford American, the leading journal devoted to Southern creative writing, as well as revising my original medicine, Faulkner.
I first moved to Missouri because I was initially fascinated by Columbia, but I never realized how much of a crossroads this state can be between the North and the South, not to mention the Arch's heralded status as the Gateway to the West. This is truly, geographically speaking, the heart of America. Lately, my editor and I have been pondering whether Missouri's athletic inclusion in the Southeastern Conference has turned other minds toward our cousins to the south. With an influx of visitors bringing football game day traditions, will other traditions rise? Perhaps The Blue Note will host even more honky-tonks, or foodies will begin to explore cuisine with new types of heat. But will literary traditions follow? Some Southern Gothic archetypes already overlap with some terrific Midwestern literature. Why not consider how the literary nuances of the South have influenced the continued rise of Gothic and grit in the Midwest?
This column—and the next—is devoted to a brief look at the intertwined literature of the Midwest and the South. But before we approach the equator, there is likely to be a working definition of Midwestern Gothic. Mary Collins Barile is a Mid-Missouri historian and author focusing on the Midwest. He identified the “Gothic” regions of America traditionally as the Hudson Valley and the South. Literature from these regions “highlights the landscape, the oddities or cruelties of people and place, the darker side of the spirit,” he explained in an email. “He may do it with humor, but the laughter comes from discomfort, not stupidity.”
Ghosts, skeletons, 'living' corpses, doomed souls and the Grim Reaper make frequent appearances, as do the storms, windswept hills and ruined castles associated with the wonderful landscapes of romance. “We see a lot of modern gothic in our horror stories” these days, Barile noted — even the current zombie trend is to blame.
A literary magazine from Ann Arbor, Mich., offers contemporary examples of Midwestern Gothic. “Gothic fiction is often defined as the inclusion of deeply flawed, often 'grotesque' characters in realistic (and, often unpleasant) situations/situations,” Midwestern Gothic's statement reads. “We take realistic aspects into account… Not every piece has to be dark or twisted or full of despair, but we look for real life, inspired by the area, good, bad or ugly.”
The Gothic genre as a whole solidified sometime in the 18th century, but the Missouri branch of Midwestern Gothic, Barile said, goes right back to the beginnings of Missouri literature itself. Alphonso Wetmore is Missouri's earliest known writer who transplanted Gothic symbols and themes to regional scenes in the 19th century—think backwoods cabins and creepy settlement towns rather than ruined castles and windswept suitcases. Ward Dorrance is another invaluable Gothic writer, who was also the first professor of French at the University of Missouri, Barile said. Dorrance's novels, novellas, and short stories were popular with Southern writers for their dark mood and well-crafted sense of place.
The Missouri landscape is pure Gothic, Barile added. Here we have the Ozarks, other forests and woodlands, and the haunting – or haunting – qualities of our open plains and rivers, as well as old cemeteries, misty fields, American Indian mounds, and even the St. Louis rectory and school that inspired the landmark novel and film The Exorcist. “We have a rich gothic history here that has been overlooked by readers for far too long,” Barile said.
Gothic elements are also present in a provocative genre of Southern and Midwestern writing increasingly known as Grit Lit. In two weeks, we'll see an introduction to the genre, in which our main guide will be Daren Dean, a Missouri native and author of Grit Lit.
