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David E. Whisnant Harry Caudill's Night Comes to the Cumberlands was the second book I ever read about Appalachia. I wish I had read it earlier, because when it came out I was a second- or third-year graduate student in American literature at Duke, looking rather desperately for a dissertation topic on the South, or the mountains, or--I was not very sure what, just something that would connect better with something I had lived or felt, something that might make more sense to me than yet another dissertation on Hawthorne or Henry James or Hemingway. But since there was no one at Duke (at least so far as I was aware) who knew or cared anything about the mountains, I wrote a dissertation on a minor southern historical novelist and went off to teach in an English department in the Midwest. Several years later (it must have been about 1968) I stumbled across Caudill's book, and that--combined with a number of other equally accidental discoveries--turned things in a new direction for me.1 I wrote a personal essay or two about the region, went to a few meetings and met some people, and started reading every other book about
Appalachian Review – University of North Carolina Press
Published: Jan 8, 1993
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