This autobiography recounts how Bragg, brought up in poverty in the deep South, ended up a Pulitzer Prize-winning report for the "New York Times". The book is an account of growing up in an impoverished, ragged white Alabama family - poor to the point that even "nigras" would bring them food. He writes of his deprived yet hilarious childhood in the 1960s, of his uncomplaining mother's back-breaking labour, and of his father's poisonous behaviour towards her and how he himself managed to escape the treadmill of hopelessness that his two brothers walk today.
Bragg, a native of Calhoun County, Alabama, calls these books the proudest examples of his writing life, what historians and critics have described as heart-breaking anthems of people usually written about only in fiction or cliches. They chronicle the lives of his family cotton pickers, mill workers, whiskey makers, long sufferers, and fist fighters. Bragg, who has written for the numerous magazines, ranging from Sports Illustrated to Food & Wine, was a newspaper writer for two decades, covering high school football for the Jacksonville News, and militant Islamic fundamentalism for The New York Times.
He has won more than 50 significant writing awards, in books and journalism, including, twice, the American Society of Newspaper Editors Distinguished Writing Award. He was a Nieman Fellow at Harvard University in 1993, and is, truthfully, still a freshman at Jacksonville State University. Bragg is currently Professor of Writing in the Journalism Department at the University of Alabama, and lives in Tuscaloosa with his wife, Dianne, a doctoral student there, and his stepson, Jake. His only real hobby is fishing, but he is the worst fisherman in his family line.
Redbirds: Memories From the South by Rick Bragg (Harville Press 1999)(Biography) may be the best of his memoirs. Growing up a poor Southerner made him what he is - one of the finest writers in today's landscape. My rating: 7/10, finished 2/2/2011.
So much of this seemed familiar to me, as if I had read it before, but finish it I did nonetheless. I hate getting older and not recalling if I read something a long time ago. Regardless of my dim memory, I enjoyed (or re-enjoyed) it just the same, and I have a soft spot for Bragg, as he so much speaks to many of my Southern memories (he is but half a year older than me). Sure, there an inexact parallels, but even when things are not the same I still knew the types or experiences to some respect. Still, there is nagging feeling that the publishers pulled a fast one on me.
memoir. Mr Bragg is just 2 years older and born and raised 1 state over but about the same level of poverty - I was struck by his strong desire to win the Pulitzer - he did win it, he did buy his Momma a house, but I don't think any of them were happy for long. It was well written. Story flowed well.
I enjoy Bragg's writing. His analogies are such zingers; I love them. I would have given it 5 stars; however as I had previously read All over But the Shoutin', much of this book was a repeat. Even tho, I read it to the end.
I'm a Londoner so can't entirely relate but loved the descriptions though, as noted elsewhere, the constant references to buying his Ma a house were wearisome.
I liked this book a lot. A gentle writing style that felt reflective of the "country boy" background of the author.
It describes childhood of abject poverty but rich in the things that matter, extended family, mother's love, nature, all the cliches but it doesnt feel contrived and it certainly isnt a pity party for all the things he didnt have as a child.
Just goes to show that a formal education isnt everything and ambition, natural talent and a good dollop of luck can take you places.
Looking forward to reading more by Rick Bragg about other members of his family group.
Most interesting in its first half, where the author describes (though in insufficient detail), his father's evils, this is an easy to read memoir, written in an unpretentious (though metaphor-heavy) style, but I found it it a tad overlong and repetitive, particularly in his endless descriptions of his dreams of buying his long-suffering mother a home of her own. I did wonder how his younger brother (still living, it seems) might regard the less than flattering descriptions of his own love affair with alcohol. Bragg is a personable guide through the mountain back roads of his past, as gifted at describing humorous anecdotes as harrowing ones, but less inclined to shine a light too deeply into his own character. No relationships outside his family are described in any depth (frequent references to the endless stream of apparently disposable 'girlfriends' notwithstanding)and the enormous professional success he was enjoyed since devoting his life to journalism is attributed largely (modestly?) to "good luck".
The one recurring motif is the massive (though he concludes that it is shrinking) chip on his shoulder that evolved from the scarifying poverty he endured into his teens; this is manifested in frequent (and sometimes churlish) put-downs of "Yankees" and "rich kids" etc, that become a little tiresome. I would have enjoyed more insights into his work as a Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist, especially as he was essentially untrained in this field before ending up as a war-zone correspondent and New York Times journalist, and his analysis of his craft rarely goes deeper than the need to "tell a good story" - a job he performs well here, especially for readers who are as fascinated as me by the Deep South.
As a footnote, a Wikipedia search informs me that Bragg was subsequently implicated in a plagiarism scandal (not for this book) - it would be interesting indeed to read his point of view on the subject.