Letter #13

Dear Flannery,

You would be delighted to hear that a situation so like what happens in your story "The Enduring Chill" came to my attention, that I thought of it and had to read the story out loud to my husband and we enjoyed it greatly. So sad and so funny. How we ought to learn to laugh at ourselves!

I fear I am becoming like one of your literary freaks. There is dead silence when I say things in the company of others outside my family, and this is understandable; the things I say are so very foreign from what one commonly hears. And the conversations I have with those who ought to know, turn out to be disappointing at the very least.

Since my last letter I have been thinking about my sentimentality that I feel could so easily turn to bitterness. What if it isn't sentimentality or bitterness at all, but a yearning for sincerity and truth? Okay, I get it, nobody's perfect. There is always some hypocrisy and pride and self-interest and vainglory in all of us. But what if it is evil I'm confronted with? What then?

I'm talking real evil here. Not just human foibles, but a thumbing of the nose at God, a winking at reality and truth, a turning one's back on elemental goodness and allowing its direct opposite to take root.

In former times all such peddlers of foolishness and debauchery would have been run out of town. Not anymore. Our good people now shudder to make judgments, even on principles. They squirm with discomfort at the idea of contending. In refusing to fight, they endure, then pity, then embrace, as Alexander Pope put it.

Yes, there are some who just follow along unthinkingly, floating down a lazy river like children on inner tubes in summer. God only knows who is truly accountable, but I think if we don't stand agin' the devil, we might as well be for 'im.

Things are so crazy lately, I fear I'll go crazy myself from the backlash. That would be just what the devil wants, wouldn't it? Your books and others help me stay sane. Still, I find myself wishing it would all hurry up and totally and incontrovertibly fall apart so we could begin again. It's hard to live amidst one new devilry after another (Tolkien).

Sitting tight,
J.