Gone with the Wind

Margaret Mitchell was a self-taught writer, having left college to tend to her father after her mother died due to flu. Truman Capote was also a self-taught writer who never went to college; instead both writers were voracious readers who focused on the writing craft at an early age. Harper Lee, a fried of Capote who helped him in his book ‘In Cold Blood’ did attend college and was also a voracious reader who knew she wanted to be a writer at an early age. Harper Lee was awarded the Civilian Medal of Honor by President George W Bush for her book ‘To Kill a Mocking Bird.’  Both Mitchell and Lee were awarded the Pulitzer Prize and both wrote just one book in their life, although Capote did not win the Pulitzer, he was the most prolific and successful among the three writers though Mitchell could have been the wealthiest if she did not die at a young age of 48 because of a car accident.

My interest in these writers is because of my recent visit to Atlanta, my reading of a Vanity Fair article on Capote and linked to his relationship to Lee. All three writers achieved fame at a young age and mostly self-taught without college education except for Lee. Self-taught writers bring to mind the folk artists who were also self-taught in the exhibit of the High Museum of Art. This tells me that good writing can be learned individually by extensive reading and writing. Mitchell, Capote and Lee are, more or less, Southern writers as the topic of most of their work are stories about the South. Capote is the more cosmopolitan writer, succeeding in multiple genres; plays, short stories, fiction and non-fiction and also as a celebrity socialite and serial talk show guest. He leveraged his writing fame to a prominent social position and has aspiration as an American Marcel Proust. Interestingly, the works of these writers were made into best-selling films.

The works of the folk artists were touching, like the work of children but had deep meaning like the art of the Australian aborigines similar to the modern work of Jean Michel Basquiat. Their paintings have a simplistic power, honesty and insight without the elegance and sophistication of trained artists like Picasso or Diego Rivera. Frieda Kahlo is also a self-taught artist in a way; despite her close association with Rivera, who taught herself to paint while recuperating from terrible injuries due to a bus accident. Visual arts see success from the works of self-taught painters but may be difficult for writers as abstract knowledge is required especially in the scribbling craft. Hence, one is amazed in the ability of self-taught writers because this effort requires abundant reading and practice that allows them to rise above the usual scribbling of an amateur.

One is impressed that one could write a book directly by typing in a typewriter the way Mitchell must have done or Ian Fleming or maybe even Hemingway. I find it difficult perhaps because my mind is always swirling and Mitchell had the fortune of being a writer in an Atlanta paper that allowed her to hone her craft. I guess it is the act of the imagination that one needs to cultivate, whether expressed in the visual arts or in prose, the expression of one’s art in a medium that requires a certain practice. One need to find a theme that would give him a firm foundation: Capote in his acceptance of his sexuality, Lee in the fight towards racial justice (stirred by the work of her father) and Mitchell in her retelling of her lost romantic culture, the destruction of the old aristocracy as told by old veterans or survivors of the civil war.  Perhaps one goal would be the acceptance of an Asian identity.

Atlanta GA

We spent the weekend in Atlanta, discovering a city with a tragic past and a refreshing future. The trip started with art. The High Museum, impressive with acclaimed architects Piano and Meier contributing their talents to produce a design that combines the best elements of the New York Guggenheim (circular galleries along a descending ramp) and high ceilings with natural light, characteristic of museums from Washington to Los Angeles. The main exhibit featured Mexican painters Frieda Kahlo and Diego Rivera. I watched the Salma Hayek film, directed by Julie Taymor so I was familiar with their work. I like the reproduction of Rivera’s murals (that one that Rockefeller destroyed) and another about labor rights and communism. I bought a print that featured Emilio Zapata as I liked Rivera’s depiction of revolution and struggle amongst his many other subjects. His work reminds me of BenCab and his series on the Philippine revolution and undoubtedly, Rivera influenced other artist like Botero with his large rounded figures.

The Museum had an interesting section on modern art, (a wall of speakers shaped like a Birmingham church that represented the civil rights struggle) and a section on native folk art by self-taught artists. The next stop was Martin Luther King historical district where we dutifully looked through the audio visual exhibits at the visitor center, walked the streets where MLK lived (Auburn Avenue), visited the large house of his youth - the home of his father, the local fire station which had no African American firemen and the Ebenezer Baptist church where both MLK junior and senior preached. A sermon of MLK junior was played over the speakers inside the historic church, which for me was the high light, his rich melodious voice gliding along the empty wooden benches, the pulpit and the altar filled with his presence that one ‘feels’ the throbbing of history. One has in mind Einstein’s remark of Gandhi: in wonder that someone as noble and heroic as MLK once walked these streets. 

The evening dinner was Bangladeshi food in Panahar restaurant, where we had chicken in sweet yellow curry with almonds, lamb masala, mango chutney, basmati rice with peas cooked in butter, naan bread and mango lassi. I had trouble sleeping with my full stomach and the ruckus of my motel neighbors and the frequent police sirens. The next day, Easter Sunday, started with breakfast at Waffle house where we had rib-eye steak, hash browns, toast bread and scrambled eggs. We went to mass at the Catholic Church of Christ the King in Peachtree Street, filled to the brim with Easter worshippers, dressed out in formal elegant finery, women in nice coats and men in blue jackets with gold buttons, small children wailing and the priest giving an uninspiring sermon to the wealthy patrons of Atlanta. Next stop was the Jimmy Carter museum which opened at noon, so we walked the elegant gardens and finished the leftover breakfast of steak in one of the picnic tables in the park. 

The Jimmy Carter museum was impressive, perhaps the highlight of our visit, where the displays were intelligently done, particularly the computerized exhibit about the presidential archives and the worldwide work of the Carter Center; the recreation of the Oval Office was also impressive and the part on the Camp David accords. I have been an admirer of Carter since reading his books; especially his early life in the rural south and about the Middle East. His vision and work in the Carter Center is the future; NGOs helping governments and foreign cultures solve health problems, reduce conflict and help societies transition to democracy. The museum was atop a hill overlooking the city of Atlanta, with the impressive buildings in the distance, near the exact spot where General William Sherman plotted the battle that ended in the fall of Atlanta and the re-election of Abraham Lincoln. But modern Atlanta represents the New South, touted by Jimmy Carter and the state, where new ideas abound and the shadow of Jim Crow no longer around. 

The last stop was the Margaret Mitchell’s apartment along Peachtree Street, where the author wrote her celebrated novel ‘Gone with the Wind,’ the fall of the old South with the backdrop of slavery and old aristocratic families plus the celebrated film with Hollywood stars, directors and screen writers bringing the book to life. We missed the tour but looked through the exhibits and watched the Hollywood documentary. Perhaps it was fitting to end this trip in the old house, like a travel in reverse, where one should have started in the pre-Civil War era, slavery, the War Between the States, reconstruction, MLK and civil rights, Jimmy Carter and the new South, the High Museum and finally the Carter center with the elegant gardens and lake overlooking the city. Normally one visits the tourist traps like our first visit: Coca Cola center, CNN, Atlanta Hawks stadium and perhaps the Aquarium. One would not see the layers the enveloped the city and the amazing stories hidden underneath.