The Cracker Queen: A Memoir of a Jagged, Joyful Life Book

This author is what is wrong with The Contemporary American South. I was disgusted with nearly everything in her story. Hannon, like most contemporary Southern writers, romanticizes this largely ignorant area of the country and embraces some of the worst trash out there. Why? 'Cause they're kinfolk, that's why.

First, let's clear the air about the South: this is an historically rich and beautiful area, full of deep roots, mouthwatering cuisine, and long-standing family traditions. This is the birthplace of our founding fathers, myriad literary giants, and countless talented musicians in several genres. This is also the place where - right or wrong, I'm not arguing one way or the other - residents felt so strongly about preserving their way of life and upholding their beliefs that they spent four, long years fighting a battle they knew they'd lose. They were outmanned and outgunned; they wore their uniforms to shreds and went shoeless in the winter; they didn't have enough food to eat and were separated from their family and their homes. Southerners continued fighting long after others would have given up. There should be no question in anyone's mind that Southerners come from a brave, proud, and determined stock - one that will find a way to get things done, themselves, thank-you-very-much. So what happened?

The NeoSoutherner Hannon describes as an exalted 'Cracker Queen' is a shameful substitution. She brags of her "Me-Maw" screwing the government over by misrepresenting herself and using her undeserved welfare money to seed her loan shark business. A few pages earlier she proudly touted the virtues of Cracker Queens being entirely self-sufficient. She encourages readers to break the law in thinly-veiled self-righteousness, believing that the only way to true independent thinking is to buck the system. Does she not realize that a large group of people believes that, anyway? I'd likely call that a herd mentality and not independence. Yet she rails on suburbanites, thumbing a juvenile finger at them for being afraid of everything. And Bubba and Paw-Paw are chuckling up a storm because *they* know that safety is really code word for fear. Well then, let's not mention Hannon's copious use of the word "thug," when referring to certain, dog-fighting urbanites who drive Caprice Classics. The rest of the world knows code language, too.

Among other atrocities, she dismisses serious spousal abuse and alcoholism as just normal ways of life and badges of honor. Why? Because when these folks are sober, their generosity knows no bounds. I don't even know what to say about that stupidity.

Hannon portrays herself and all of her family to be dirty rednecks, never giving a second thought to putting thair hard-earned trust in thair kinfolk, even though thair kinfolk are all crookeder than a dog's hind leg. Which reminds me: the platitudes are fast furious here, as if every word spewing from a Southerner's mouth is a quotable quote. Oh, the stereotypes. I simply cannot believe she didn't include the old Southerner wedding bromide: "The secret to a happy marriage is to keep his belly full and his balls empty." For real, someone wrote that in my wedding book.

Also of note is the asinine notion that Southern women have a sixth sense of sorts about danger and have a second sight for "haints." This, apparently, is a gift that keeps them alive and prophesying till old age. Special for all those talk-back women who have their priorities straight!

I live in the South, I was born in the South, I was raised in the South, and I am *done* with the South. This book does more to perpetuate 'poor white trash' stereotypes than, well…thugs stuffing fighting dogs in Caprice Classics. Hannon's story is a dime a dozen, as they say. The only remarkable thing about this book is her complete lack of self-examination. I'm reminded of a dog I once had that rolled in horse manure and then looked at me proudly, wagging her tail and letting her tongue hang out. No, I'm not claiming you. You done bad. Git in your basket and don't come out for a month of Sundays.