There is a cheap way of invoking the American South—common to country songs and television shows and pulpy novels—that involves setting the scene with cornfields or battlefields and setting the table with gravy and grits.
You know that you’re in the midst of it when an otherwise deracinated character drops his final “G”s and says something about livin’ high on the hog or complains about how it’s colder outside than a witch’s tit.
But it takes more than kudzu or a Mason jar to make a work of Southern fiction. A real sense of place requires something else—more verb than noun, not a thing but a way of being.
For those who are unfamiliar with this title, it was published starting in 1859 by the Mercantile Agency, part of R.G. Dun & Company. Dun merged with Bradstreet in 1933 and they continued producing these volumes until 2006.
Unlike other kinds of directories, which are often focused on a particular metropolitan area or type of industry, Dun’s Reference Book collection has national coverage and includes “merchants, manufacturers, and traders” in a wide range of industries from the largest cities to the smallest towns across the United States and Canada.
By Tamara Hardingham-Gill, CNN • Published 30th December 2021
(CNN) — The launch of the new Orient Express La Dolce Vita might still be a while off, but it seems as though the highly anticipated service will definitely be worth the wait.
Renderings of the 11-carriage train, which pays homage to the “La Dolce Vita” period of the 1960s, have been unveiled, revealing a plush interior that looks more like a boutique hotel than a railway car.
Orient Express La Dolce Vita is to be made up of six trains, each featuring 12 “deluxe cabins,” 18 suites, an “Honour Suite” and a restaurant carriage offering a “five-star dining experience” including “award-winning Italian wines and exclusive haute cuisine.”
In battling “high art” and promoting pop culture, progressive academics became apostles of free-market capitalism
By Doug Neiss, Published December 25, 2021 12:44PM (EST)
Reciting what was even by 1990 a familiar litany, a Princeton professor, in a book called “The Death of Literature,” accused advanced writers of the past 200 years of wanting nothing to do with bourgeois industrialized society except to attack it: Generations of authors have lived out the poet’s role that Wordsworth created, in life and poem, withdrawing from industrialized society and rejecting its materialist values.
Sometimes they took up their stance on the left, like Blake and Shelley, sometimes on the right like Yeats and Pound, but always, like Joyce’s Stephen Dedalus, they refused to bow — non serviam — to the bourgeois family, religion, nation, and language that they felt cast nets over their souls.
To the writer of those words, the apparent triumph of bourgeois (capitalist) democracy over fascist and communist rivals signaled what was soon to be called “the end of history.” By opting out, advanced writers had succeeded only in marginalizing themselves. Their marginalization had little to do with rejecting bourgeois democracy, however. Rather, bourgeois democracy had marginalized them for failing to measure up economically.
The same fate has befallen classical music, absent any explicit rejection of bourgeois democracy, though other face-saving excuses have been invented. On the other hand, marginalization has not befallen the most successful visual artists (whatever their politics), whose work can garner exorbitant prices and therefore respect for the vocation.
Holidays are never quite the same after someone we love dies.
Even small aspects of a birthday or a Christmas celebration — an empty seat at the dinner table, one less gift to buy or make — can serve as jarring reminders of how our lives have been forever changed.
Although these realizations are hard to face, clinical psychologist Mary-Frances O’Connor says we shouldn’t avoid them or try to hide our feelings. “Grief is a universal experience,” she notes, “and when we can connect, it is better.”
O’Connor, an associate professor of psychology at the University of Arizona, studies what happens in our brains when we experience grief.
She says grieving is a form of learning — one that teaches us how to be in the world without someone we love in it. “The background is running all the time for people who are grieving, thinking about new habits and how they interact now.”