recreate the familial and national valuesrnit scorned in its youth. But the social orderrncannot be restored by an abstractrndiscussion of “values,” whose essentialrncontribution to human existence needsrnto be demonstrated. The value of ProfessorrnO’Neill’s book is that it providesrnjust such a demonstration.rnWilliam R. Hawkins is Senior ResearchrnAnalyst for the Republican ResearchrnCommittee in the U.S. House ofrnRepresentatives.rnStill Storiedrnbyf.O. TaternThat’s What I Like (About thernSouth): And Other New SouthernrnStories for the NinetiesrnEdited by George P. Garrettrnand Paul RuffinrnColumbia: University of South CarolinarnPress; 421 pp., $34.95rnAs traditional as a Chinese restaurant,rnas homegrown as a Subaru, asrnagrarian as a fax machine, as Celtic as arncomputer, as handcrafted as cable television,rnas hospitable as an eight-lanernexpressway, as Baptist as a drug deal, asrnPresbyterian as neo-pagan worship, asrnEpiscopalian as a lesbian sermonette,rnand as pious as an abortion mill, the contemporaryrnSouth is an overheated butrnair-conditioned land of profound corruption,rnSwedish luxury sedans, and politicalrnfatuity that exemplifies everythingrnwrong with America. Why else would arnsmall-town boy from Arkansas, raised onrnwholesome values, fit in so well with thernhigh-minded leaders of New York, Hollywood,rnand Haiti?rnBut beneath the surface of ugliness,rnlies, and conformity, there remains arnremnant of authenticity that may be isolatedrnprivately or even demonstratedrnpublicly. In the realm of literary culture,rnthe short story, since Poe andrnLongstreet and Thorpe, has been arnSouthern specialty of internationalrnrenown. In our century, names such asrnWilliam Faulkner, Katherine AnnernPorter, Caroline Cordon, Eudora Welty,rnRobert Penn Warren, Andrew Lytic,rnFlannery O’Connor, and Peter Taylorrncome to mind first perhaps, but the importrnof the present volume is that the literaryrntradition of the South remains a vitalrnone, even in the shadows of thosernmasters and mistresses of the art.rnReaders of this journal will be interestedrnto know that two pieces originallyrnpublished in Chronicles in Marchrn1991—Fred Chappell’s story “Ancestors”rnand Madison Smartt Bell’s essayrn”Time and Tide in the Southern ShortrnStory”—are included here. They arernjoined by a number of stories from a specialrn1990 issue of Texas Quarterly, as wellrnas by others from elsewhere—31 in all.rnThe collection is imposing, “diverse,”rnand impressive, striking sparks in manyrndirections, though I will restrict myselfrnhere to commenting upon only a few ofrnthem. After all, Fred Chappell’s introduction,rn”The Good Songs Behind Us:rnSouthern Fiction of the 1990’s,” saysrnwhat needs to be said so effectively thatrnfurther comment is hardly necessary.rnStill, I would like to note a few worksrnthat seem particularly remarkable, onesrnwhich are likely to survive the publicationrneven of That’s What I Like to becomernset pieces in writing classes and tornbe featured in subsequent anthologies ofrnthe short story. Furthermore, these storiesrnshow in various ways something distinctivelyrnSouthern that survives in spiternor even because of so many changes.rnFred Chappell’s “Ancestors,” quite possiblyrnthe finest work in this collection,rnmight be called an example of “magic realism”rnor of Confederate science fiction.rnIn giving a new meaning to the phrasern”opening old wounds,” he provides arnperspective upon the past by vividlyrnimagining a future in which that past isrnnot only not forgotten, but possibly evenrnrevised, as the Civil War eternally returns.rnThat war is present also as anrnironically baleful background in AlisonrnHagy’s “The Field of Lost Shoes,” inrnwhich the battlefield of New Market providesrna contemporary setting for the crisisrnof a love affair.rnOr perhaps Madison Jones’s “Rage” isrnthe finest work in this collection. At thernend, Herman, the black protagonist,rn”looked . . . like the devil himself,” arnphrase that hints at a larger meaningrnabout the nature of rage. MadisonrnJones’s story is notable for its disarmingrnpurity of diction and for a moral awarenessrnreminiscent of those honoraryrnSoutherners, Hawthorne and James—rnqualities we have come to expect fromrnone of our nation’s finest writers. “Rage”rnis notable, too, as a story about a blackrnman written by a white man—a story asrnpolitically incorrect as it is morallyrnsound.rnBut then again, something very different,rnJill McCorkle’s “Final VinylrnDays,” is also a contender as a favorite,rnmaking meaning as it does from thernchaos of mass culture. Its narrator is agonizedrnby progress, for what compactrndisc has the authenticity of an LP ofrnoldies but goodies? Love is as hard tornfind as the good old days of the late 60’srnand early 70’s: “Where were the realrnwomen? Where was Grace Slick?” ThernSouthern longing for days gone by hasrnrarely been so poignantly parodied as inrnthis sad and funny story.rnR.H.W. Dillard’s contribution (whichrnlends its title to that of this collection) isrnsomething else, a postmodern send-uprnthat makes one think of Borges andrnNabokov and Berger before reflectingrnthat Faulkner is here, too, as everywhere.rnTrying to get the “gender” of Roy andrnShirley, respectively, and to count all therntitles of Southern works woven into therntext of “That’s What I Like (About thernSouth)” is so much fun that reading, yetrnonce more, feels good.rnThe pleasure of the text is notrnSchadenfreud, though, even when storiesrnwritten from the realist tradition putrnus through compelling unpleasantness.rnWilliam Mills’ “The Commuters” is arnglimpse of hell that seems frighteninglyrnlike familiar experience. The severity ofrnits truth gives us an existential insight asrnwell as the satisfaction of knowing somethingrnthat is keenly rendered. ClayrnReynolds’ “Mexico” does scrupulouslyrnand powerfully just what the moviesrncan’t do at all, in a tale of roughneckrnviolence that produces an epiphany.rnAlan Weir’s “Bastard” is a superb story ofrnhighly particular recollection, of a comingrnof age understood in hindsight andrnmade accessible by the telling.rnSo much success and so much varietyrnare self-recommending to any readerrnhungry for the good stuff; and I haverncited only a few of many pieces. Therndemonstrated craftsmanship says muchrnabout the possibilities of writing in andrnabout and of the South, which somehowrnretains a cultural identity even as itrnis betrayed from within and transformedrnfrom without. The reading, like the writing,rnhelps. So what else is new?rn].0. Tate is a professor of English atrnDowling College on Long Island.rn36/CHRONICLESrnrnrn