By Rick Bragg
A brand new York instances outstanding booklet of the YearThis haunting, harrowing, gloriously relocating recollection of a lifestyles at the American margin is the tale of Rick Bragg, who grew up dirt-poor in northeastern Alabama, probably destined for both the cotton generators or the penal complex, and as a substitute grew to become a Pulitzer Prize-winning reporter for the hot York occasions. it's the tale of Bragg's father, a hard-drinking guy with a murderous mood and the behavior of operating out at the those that wanted him most.But on the heart of this hovering memoir is Bragg's mom, who went eighteen years and not using a new gown in order that her sons may have tuition outfits and picked different people's cotton in order that her teenagers shouldn't have to live to tell the tale welfare on my own. Evoking those lives--and the rustic that formed and nourished them--with artistry, honesty, and compassion, Rick Bragg brings domestic the affection and soreness that lie on the center of each relations. the result's unforgettable.
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Extra resources for All over but the shouting
We know of only one time when one of these arguments resulted in a shooting, when my mother was four or ve, and a man accused him of stealing. He might as well have spit in my granddaddy’s face, shot his mule, talked down his dog and called his momma a bad name, ’cause you don’t tell a good man that he stole, and expect to walk away. What happened next remains one of those pages of family history that no one really wants to tell, but just can’t help themselves. My momma can tell it better than me, but not quite as good as Aunt Gracie Juanita, who is the only person who can do so without giggling.
Lord no, hon, they was this big,” and she made a circle with her hands about the size of a truck tire. The wounding of their matriarch seemed to take the ght out of The wounding of their matriarch seemed to take the ght out of the Reardens, who retreated, carrying the big woman. I think that Granddaddy helped haul her to the car. I do not know if the Reardens ever apologized for accusing my grandfather of stealing, but I guess once you’ve shot one of their women in the buzzoms with a deer slug, any apology would be a long time coming.
I asked her how my daddy killed him. “He killed him a little bit at a time,” she said. Then, to show me how, my gentle mother put her hands together with her palms turned toward the oor, and made a pushing motion, again and again and again … Hend,e came home from the war to marry my momma. I guess, in the he did what we all do when we su er. He came home, to try and heal. But in a way, he was dying, failing, even before I was born. My momma’s life with him, my life, Sam’s and Mark’s lives, may have given him some joy, some peace.
All over but the shouting by Rick Bragg